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THE 


ROVING RED RANGERS, 

OR 

LAURA LAMAR, 

OF THE SUSQUEHANNA. 


A THRILLING ROMANCE OF THE OLD 
COLONIAL DAYS. 


BY C. A. ROBINSON, 
Chief of the Wenokta.hs, 



PtTBms™ BY ' ^ 

THE AUTHOR. 


X 








TH€ U8HARY ii'r 

OONG.tESS, 
Two Co^M flEO£rvet» 

iWA«. t4 1902 

O^HtOHT eNTRY 

a 83 XXa No. 

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TO LOVING DA UGHTER 
Without IX' hose tender devotion^ fyatient 
forbearance and nnf ailing' endeavors^ this 
book coidd never have appeared, it is 
RESPECTFULLY DEDICA TED. 


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Copyrighted^ IQ02, by 
CHARLES AS BURT ROBINSON. 
All Rights Reserved. 



LAURA LAMAR. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE ADVENTURE. 

“Well, well, Miss Gayrider, you ap- 
pear to be in something* of a hurry this 
morning*. What seems to be the matter? 
Has the dusky son of the forest been try- 
ing to extend to you his courtesies?” 

“Of course I’m in a hurry, daddy, 
and you’d be the same way I ’m a think- 
ing, if you had been in my place. These 
red rascals are becoming entirely too po- 
lite to persons to whom they have never 
been introduced. I wish they would be 
just a little more circumspect in their 
conduct toward those with whom they are 
not acquainted. This is the third time 
within the past few days -that they have 
shown a disposition to become uncomfort- 


LAURA LAMAR. 


3 


ably familiar with me, and one of them 
was so very g-allant that I suppose he 
thoug’ht Blackbird w^as running* away with 
me, for he rode rig-ht up beside me and 
attempted to g-rasp my bridle rein, and, I 
really believe he would have done so if a 
bullet from my little rifle had not g-one 
sing-ing* to his heart.” 

“Why, my child, you are remarkably 
cool and sarcastic in your manner of de- 
scribing* a horrible incident which so 
nearly cost you your liberty, and, it mig*ht 
have been, your life. Did you not know 
that the Indians are on the war path at 
this time?” 

“Well, yes, daddy, I had heard you 
make some such remark a time or two.” 

^ Then how did it happen that you 
were so reckless as to take your life in 
your own hands in this manner?” 

“If you’ll take this deer olf the 
shoulders of Blackbird and let me sit 
down on the mossy spot under that hem- 
lock tree, I ’ll tell you all about it as soon 
as I g*et rested a little, for I ’m awfully 
shaky just nov/.” 


4 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“Yes,” said the father, “that’s just 
like a woman; she’ll fig’ht like a tiger 
while she’s at it, and when the danger is 
over, she will utterly collapse. Bring 
her some milk, mother.” 

The mother hurried awav to- the 
spring-house and in a little while, re- 
turned, bringing a gourd full of fresh 
new milk, which the daughter drank eag- 
erly and was soon much refreshed. 

“You see, daddy, it was this way. I 
heard you say a few days ago that your 
rheumatism was giving you a great deal of 
trouble, and, as we were running short of 
provisions, I knew it would be a task for 
you to go on the hunt, so I just saddled 
up Blackbird, loaded and primed my rifle, 
got together a supply of ammunition and 
started out to do a little hunting on my 
own responsibility. I soon caught sight 
of the trail of a deer, which I followed for 
some time, and before I knew it, I was 
five miles away and the sun was sinking 
rapidly in the west. I had just turned 
Blackbird’s head toward home and had 
gone but a short distance when I heard a 


LAURA LAMAR. 


5 


voice utter a low call in the bushes behind 
me. I at once concluded that there was 
dang-er about me and gave Blackbird the 
rein and he came over the hills like a 
whirlwind, while two young Indians fol- 
lowed in full pursuit. I tell you it was a 
merry chase and it was jolly fun to see 
those dirty scamps urge their ponies 
to their utmost speed, but they were not 
in the race with Blackbird, and he soon 
brought me home safely.” 

“Didn’t they offer to fire upon you?” 
anxiously inquired the father. 

“Not a single time, and that was 
what surprised me greatly.” 

“Ah, my child, too well do I under- 
stand the meaning of their actions. Their 
intention was to capture you and carry 
you away to their savage home.” 

“And where is their home, daddy?” 

“Their principal place of resort is a 
large Indian town by the name of San- 
dusky, situated far beyond the Allegheny 
River.” 

“What would they have done with me 
when they had taken me there?” 


6 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“ You would have been compelled to 
lead a life that is worse than death.” 

“Well, then, I’m really g-lad that the 
noble sons of the forest did not overtake 
me, for I am not quite ready to leave my 
cozy, little Pennsylvania home, on the 
banks of the Two Lick and under the 
shadow of Chestnut Ridge.” 

‘ ‘ But tell us, Laura, ’ ’ said her mother, 
“of the second day’s adventure, as you 
say this is the third.” 

“ So I will, although I had a closer 
call the second day than I did the first. 
You see, I did not bring in any game the 
first day, and I v/as determined not to be 
outwitted by two greasy savages, so, 
about three days afterward, I started out 
again and this time, not only did I care- 
fully load my rifle, but I slipped out your 
hunting knife, daddy, and put it in my 
belt to use in case I needed it.” 

“Well, I declare,” said her father. 
“A great fight you would have put up 
against half a dozen burly Indians.” 

“That’s just the very thing I did 
and they didn’t get my scalp, either. But 


LAURA LAMAR. 


7 


I promised to tell you how it was, so here 
g-oes. I had not gone more than three 
miles from home, when I heard the sound 
of a wild turkey calling its mate. I had 
failed to bring down the deer three days 
before, so I concluded to try my luck 
turkey shooting, for I knew if I were suc- 
cessful, we would have plenty of food for 
awhile. I followed the call of the turkey 
but it kept moving farther and farther 
away, and so rapidly, that I was not able 
to overtake it.” 

“You were being led into the same 
death trap that many others have entered, 
and that, too, in spite of my repeated 
warnings against the treacherous ^turkey 
call of the Indian.” 

“You are right, daddy, you are right. 
While riding along, I suddenly remem- 
bered having heard you say that Indians 
sometimes imitate the call of the turkey 
so cleverly, that even flocks of turkeys 
themselves have been deceived and de- 
coyed into easy shooting range; so I 
whirled Blackbird around, and there I 
saw, full in my path, three burly Indians 


8 


LAURA LAMAR. 


on foot and all of them approaching^'me 
rapidly. 

“As soon as I faced them, they ut- 
tered a wild yell. I instantly realized my 
perilous position and well knew the decoy 
Indians would come up behind me, so I 
raised my rifle and fired directly at the 
foremost one, killing* him instantly. 
Grasping* the g*un by the muzzle and rais- 
ing* it in the air, I determined to sell my 
life as dearly as possible. I intended to 
crush the skull of one of the wretches as 
I passed them and take the chances of be- 
ing^ killed by the other. What was my 
surprise, when I approached them, to 
hear one of them call in clear distinct 
English: ‘Stop, you wench, or I’ll send a 
bullet through your brain.’ 

“Instantly I knew the speaker was a 
white man, and I really believed the well 
disguised villain would carry out his 
threat; instead of halting, however, I 
urged Blackbird forward and brought the 
butt of the gun down with all the power 
that was in me, hoping to crush his skull, 
but he pushed my gun aside with his, as 


LAURA LAMAR. 


9 


I dashed along*, yet, to my great surprise, 
not a shot was fired at me. Instead of 
this, I was so astonished to hear him call 
my name twice, ‘Laura, Laura,’ that I 
stopped suddenly, wheeled around facing* 
him, when he put both hands to his 
mouth and said in a loud voice: 

“‘Don’t fail to tell Loco that I am 
still camping* on her trail.’” 

Scarcely had Laura finished the last 
sentence, when her mother, placing* her 
hand over her heart, uttered aloud scream 
and fell to the earth insensible. Quickly 
the father raised her up and carried her 
into the little log* house, where he placed 
her on the plain but comfortable bed. 

During* the remaining* portion of the 
day and throug-h the long*, weary nig*ht, 
both father and daug*hter sat beside the 
bed of the stricken wifeand mother, admin- 
istering* to her such simple restoratives 
as were found in their humble home. In 
silent eagerness, they gazed into her face, 
earnestly longing to catch the slightest 
sign of returning consciousness. The 
wolves, attracted by the scent of the blood 


10 


LAURA LAMAR. 


of the deer, which had been hung* up in 
the little shed room that adjoined the 
cabin, made the nig*ht hideous with their 
ceaseless concert of dismal howling*, while 
the dog* whined piteously in his terror as 
he curled himself up in a heap in the 
darkest corner. 

Becoming* completely exhausted by 
the long* watch, the father finally yielded 
to Laura’s persuasion, and, turning down 
a chair, and placing his coat on it for a 
pillow, stretched himself on the floor and 
was soon fast asleep. 

Laura sat holding her mother’s hands 
in hers, and just as the day began to 
break, the latter drew a long breath, 
shuddered a little and opened her eyes. 
For an instant the expression in them 
was a vacant one, then closing her hands 
around those of her daughter with the 
grip of a giant, she said in a hoarse 
whisper: 

“.Where is he? ” 

“Where is who?” asked Laura, 
quickly. 

“Where is Henry Anson? I mean — 
where is — where is — your father?” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


11 


“ Here he is lying* on the floor, mother; 
he became so tired; I ’ll just wake him.” 

“No, no, let him sleep on. I think 
— I believe — it seems to me that I have 
had an awful dream. Will you g*ive me 
a little water?” 

“Certainly mother,” and, as she - 
turned suddenly around, the shadow of a 
human figure seemed to dart past the 
little window, but, when she looked out, 
she saw nothing, and, dismissing the 
matter from her mind, she brought the 
-water to her mother, who drank it, then 
fell into a calm and quiet sleep. 

When she awoke, the sun was high 
above the crest of the ridge, and shone 
down in loving splendor upon the little, 
cabin home situated on a high bluff along 
the right bank of Two Lick Creek, just 
below where it is joined by the rolling, 
dashing Yellow Creek, in what is now 
Indiana county, Pennsylvania. 

She could hear the low voices of 
father and daughter as they moved quietly 
about the fire place, at the opposite end of 
the cabin from where she lay, preparing 


12 


LAURA LAMAR. 


their morning meal. Slowly opening her 
eyes, she looked around, and her mind 
at once became perfectly clear, and she 
remembered what had transpired on the 
day before. She was surprised to find 
herself mucfi stronger than she seemed 
when she first awoke, and, as she lay and 
listened, she heard her daughter ask in a 
low and earnest tone: 

“Daddy, what do you think made 
mother get sick so quickly, yesterday?” 

“I think it must have been heart 
trouble, my child.” 

There was a pause for a few moments, 
and Laura asked again: 

“What did that man mean, daddy, do 
you suppose, when he told me to tell Loco 
he was camping on her trail?” 

He did not reply for a moment, but 
presently said: 

“When mother gets well, perhaps 
she can tell you, but come, my child, let 
us go to the shed and I will cut a nice 
slice of venison for her breakfast,” and 
the two passed quietly out of the room. 

His answer was quite a relief to the 


LAURA LAMAR. 13 

mother. Rising from the bed, she 
dressed herself, took a seat in the plain, 
splint bottomed rocking chair, which her 
husband had made, and was sitting there 
when she heard Laura say to her father: 

“ Well, you finish cutting this, daddy, 
and I will see if mother is awake. I 
expect she is very hungry by this time, 
and if she is, we will surprise her with a 
fine breakfast, pretty soon.” 

She raised the wooden latch of the 
door between the two rooms, very care- 
fully, and, as she opened it, her mother 
said in a cheerful voice: 

“Yes, indeed, my child, I feel like I 
could eat an entire venison ham and a 
whole corn pone this morning.” 

“Well, daddy,” said Laura in great 
astonishment, “did you ever?” 

“What is it, Laura?” 

“You -just come in here and see what 
is it.” 

“What do you think of that now? 
Here is a woman who was nearly as dead 
as a door nail two or three hours ago, 
sitting up in a rocking chair and ordering 
a breakfast fit for the Queen.” 


14 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“The Queen be blowed. She’s bet- 
ter than all the Queens in the world. 
How do you feel, mother? Had a pretty 
tough job on your hands, didn’t you? 
But I thought you’d come around all 
right, especially for the sake of John 
Lamar,’’ said her husband, as he leaned 
over her and looked tenderly into her 
eyes. He was always fond of referring 
to himself by his full name when speak- 
ing to his wife in time of trouble or 
distress, for she had often told him it 
carried her back to the days of their 
youth and their courtship. The name 
seemed to impress her very deeply on 
this occasion, for she placed her arm 
around his neck and drew his face close 
to hers, as she whispered: 

“Yes, for the sake of John Lamar.” 

The family gathered around the plain 
little table and ate their morning meal, 
while their laughter and gaiety expressed 
a state of supreme contentment and do- 
mestic happiness, which is not always 
found in halls of stone or palaces of 
marble. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


15 


Nothino- was said of the unwelcome 
incident which had occured, during- the 
entire day. But in the afternoon of the 
next, while the husband and wife were 
sitting beneath the overhanging* boughs 
of the same old hemlock that had shaded 
them so often in times that were past and 
gone, Laura came riding up the hill from 
a short canter, looking the perfect picture 
of health and beauty. 

“Here comes that daring, reckless 
girl,” said the mother; “I hope she has 
not been out chasing red skins again.” 

“No, indeed, mother, I know when 
I have had enough sport for one time, 
but I really think you are showing 
too much concern for my welfare. I 
don’t believe I am in any immediate peril, 
as I infer the red rascals have concluded 
by this time, that I ’m a pretty dangerous 
quantity to fool with. Really, mother, I 
am getting to be a crack shot, here lately. 
Now just watch me pick that crow from 
the top of that tree across the creek,” 
and putting her rifle to her shoulder, she 
fired, when the ebony hued bird dropped 


16 


LAURA LAMAR. 


instantly into the stream and floated 
downward out of sight. 

“But tell us, Laura, about your last 
day’s adventure, you didn’t finish your 
story.” 

“Well, no,” said the daughter, “our 
last little confab was slightly interrupted, 
and I doubt very much whether the com- 
pany would be greatly edified by any 
further reference to what has taken place 
recently.” 

“Oh, you need not be afraid that I 
will be seized with any more conniption 
fits,” said the mother, laughing, “but 
I ’m really anxious to find out how my 
daughter succeeded so well in her third 
adventure.” 

“Come, come, mother,” said her 
husband, “seems to me that your curios- 
ity is aroused to a higher pitch than is 
best for your present physical condition. 
Don’t you think we’d better let the tail 
go wdth the hide and drop that subject?” 

“Oh, no, I want to hear all the fun 
from beginning to end, so please proceed, 
Miss Laura.” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


17 


“What do you say, daddy?” said 
Laura, looking- at her father. 

“ Well, g-o ahead, and if she g-oes to 
cavorting- around here again, I ’ll give her 
a double dose of camphor and hartshorn.” 

“Well, you see, mammy, after the 
experience of the first two days, I con- 
cluded that my anatomy would be a little 
bit safer if I w^ere to go out hunting in 
another direction, and, as I had still 
brought in no game, I was determined to 
make one more effort, for I have often 
heard it said, that the third time is the 
charm, whatever that means. So I crossed 
the creek down at the lower ford, and 
was soon on the trail of another deer 
which I followed, this time with more 
caution than I had observed before. I 
came in sight of the game two or three 
times, but was not within proper shoot- 
ing distance until the animal had crossed 
the Ridge, had made a circuit and was 
coming back down the slope toward Yel- 
low Creek. For a time I lost the trail 
and was just about to give up the chase, 
when I noticed Blackbird turn his ears 


18 


LAURA LAMAR. 


forward, and, as I peered throug-h the 
bushes, I saw the creature standing*, 
with its head down, at the salt lick just 
above ‘Lucky Hit.’ I raised my rifle and 
fired, shooting* it throug*h the heart. I 
rode to where it was, and with some difii- 
culty, lifted it up and laid it across Black- 
bird’s shoulders in front of my saddle, 
then mounted and started home. 

“I had lost all thoug*hts of dangfer, as 
none had appeared, and was riding* along* 
leisurely, feeling* very proud of the result 
of my efforts, and planning* a g*enuine 
surprise for the old folks at home. I had 
not g*one far, however, when Blackbird 
suddenly lifted his head, g*ave a loud 
snort and started off at such a rapid rate 
as to nearly tumble myself and the g*ame 
to the g*round. 

“I let him have full rein, for there 
was nothing else I could do, as I was quite 
busy just then, holding on to my game, 
which I felt I could not afford to lose. 
A loud yell told me that I was pursued, 
and something whispered that my pur- 
suer was gaining on me. Although I had 


LAURA LAMAR. 


19 


but little chance to turn round to see who 
was behind me, I soon discovered there 
was no necessity of doing so, as I saw 
a young Indian gradually passing me, 
and I was instantly convinced that his 
intention was to capture, and not to kill 
me. When this thought flashed over me, 
I was just on the point of dropping the 
doe, for the load was too heavy for poor 
Blackbird, but at this moment, the Indian 
gave a triumphant shout and urged his 
horse to greater speed, while Blackbird 
was doing all he could. I don’t know 
whatever made me think of it, but just 
as the villain reached out his hand to take 
hold of my bridle, I threw my right foot 
across the neck of the doe, drew up my 
rifle and fired, as his fingers were touch- 
ing the rein, and the noble red man fell 
to rise no more. 

“In my excitement, I almost dropped 
my rifle, but Blackbird sprang forward 
with new life, and I heard that same 
English voice behind me say in bitterest 
tones: 

‘“Curse you, if I can’t capture you, 


20 


LAURA LAMAR. 


I’ll kill you,’ and he sent a bullet after 
me which plowed its way through my 
hair and left such a furrow behind it, 
that I fear I will lose all my charms for 
the handsomest young man in the Cone- 
maugh valley. But I got away, game and 
all, and I’m as good as a dozen dead 
girls.” And, indeed, she seemed the 
very soul of womanly courage and beauty, 
as she stood there, the long, glistening 
curls dangling about her shoulders, her 
right hand resting on the bridle of her 
pet steed, while, with the other, she 
grasped the muzzle of the rifle which had 
lately served her so well. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


21 


CHAPTER II. 

THE OUTLAWS. 

It has been stated that, in the twi- 
lig-ht of the morning- which followed the 
long- and ceaseless vigil that Laura kept 
over her stricken mother, the girl, while 
performing her duties, turned her face 
toward the solitary window that admitted 
light into the cabin, and, as she did so, 
imagined she saw the shadow of a human 
figure dart suddenly past it, but she was 
so absorbed in the work at hand, she per- 
suaded herself it was merely a passing 
fancy and dismissed the matter from her 
mind. She was not mistaken, however, 
for a pair of leering eyes had gazed earn- 
estly and maliciously upon the scene 
within, and when she turned, the figure 
had glided swiftly among the leaf-clad 
bushes that covered the side of the hill 


22 


LAURA LAMAR. 


Upon which the cabin stood, and disap- 
peared. Althoug-h this man was attired 
in the complete g-arb of a full blooded 
native, it required but a g-lance from a 
practised eye to discover that the con- 
tour of the face and the broad, full brow 
impressed upon him the features of a 
white man with such indelible clearness, 
that the paint he had made from the brown 
berries of the wood, and with which he 
had thickly smeared every portion of his 
person that might be exposed, could not 
disguise him. 

As the reader may reasonably infer, 
he was none other than the one who had 
shouted the words to Laura, which seemed 
of such horrible import to her mother. 
It was Henry Anson, whose name the 
poor woman, in her half stupefied con- 
dition, had unluckily pronounced in the 
presence of the girl. Why he did not 
enter the cabin at the time he was prowl- 
ing about it, is, as yet, a mystery. He 
certainly had all its inmates at his mercy. 

Two hours later he sat in a silent 
and sullen mood on a decaying log near 


LAURA LAMAR. 


23 


the salt lick where the g*irl had shot the 
deer. Upon the g-round a little distance 
from him, were three, vicious looking* 
individuals, whom the merest novice could 
not mistake for thoroug*h-bred savag*es. 
The party seemed to have no fear of dan- 
g*er, either present or remote, for, before 
them was a smart, blazing fire, in front 
of which, on a bed of live coals, lay some 
of the choicest cuts from the ham of 
a splendid deer which had lately been 
!^hot, roasting to an appetizing turn. No 
effort was made to conceal the dense mass 
of blue, curling smoke which ascended 
unmolested above the tree tops and was 
lost in the ether beyond. 

When the venison steak was done, 
the young Indian who had the preparation 
of the meal in charge, thrust a sharp 
stick through each cut and dipped it into 
the salt laden waters of the pool which 
lay within a few feet of a clear, limpid 
spring of fresh water, thus both cooling 
and seasoning it. This done, the three 
Indians fell upon their portion with the 
voracity of their nature, while the tempt- 


24 


LAURA LAMAR. 


ing* slice which the young- native had 
placed upon some clean leaves that cov- 
ered the log- beside the disg-uised white 
man, lay untouched. 

The somber silence which he stead- 
fastly observed, the terrible contortions 
of his dark and villainous features, the 
sudden rush of blood to every portion of 
his face and the lurid light in his jet 
black eyes, all too plainly told of a flame 
of anger within, that was consuming his 
very soul. 

Rising from his sitting posture and 
drawing himself up to his fullest height, 
he stamped the ground vehemently and 
said: 

“Curse that wonian, I will yet pos- 
sess her in spite of every opposition. I 
have not been on her trail all these years 
for nothing. Too often have I braved the 
dangers that surround a known outlaw to 
release the game which is within such 
easy grasp as she now is;’’ and as he 
paced back and forth, his whole frame 
trembled like the leaves of the quaking 
aspen at his side, while the frenzy of an 


LAURA LAMAR. 2^ 

overmastering’ madness held him fast. 
Presently he took a seat upon the log- 
without noticing- the food before him, 
although apparently having recovered 
from his fit of anger. Observing a change 
in his demeanor, the oldest of the three 
natives ventured to remark, in the English 
which his white leader had taught him: 

“Rattlesnake is troubled to-day. He 
has tasted nothing for almost two suns, 
and, though the singing of the birds in 
the forest and the glistening of the sun- 
light on the hills beyond the river, plainly 
tell him the morning is here, and though 
the prepared venison lies before him, he 
touches it not. Surely must his heart be 
sore within him.” 

“Yes, Jumping Fox,” said the man 
addressed, as he looked earnestly into 
the eyes of the savage, “the heart of 
Rattlesnake is troubled.” 

“And for what?” asked the Indian, 
respectfully. 

“Jumping Pox,” said the other, 
lowering his voice and speaking in tones 
almost tender, “child of the Great Spirit, 


26 


LAURA LAMAR. 


brother of the fierce blazing sun and 
softly smiling moon, the Red Man knows 
the secrets that are whispered by the 
wind as it softly moves through the yield- 
ing bushes and murmurs its low, sweet 
words into his ears when the night-dews 
moisten the grass beneath his feet and 
the vines that trail beside his pathway 
wind their clinging tendrils about the 
spreading branches of the bush and the 
bramble. In the morning he sits, silent 
and motionless upon the solid rock, from 
whose white bosom the clear waters burst 
forth, and he understands the song they 
sing as they go laughing and dancing over 
the rugged stones, down to the beauti- 
ful stream at the foot of the mountain. 
His eagle eye pierces the foliage of the 
forest and watches the noble deer, as he 
jealously guards his mate from the atten- 
tions of all intruders of his kind. The 
alert ear of the Red Man catches the soft 
notes of the dove, as, swinging in the over- 
hanging boughs of the swaying hemlock, 
he sings his love-song to his feathered 


LAURA LAMAR. 


27 


sweetheart in the balmy beauty of the 
morning- of the spring-time. 

“With his rod in his hand, the son of 
the forest wends his way to the side 
of the beautiful mountain stream, that 
leaps from rock to rock, and there, in the 
eddying- pools, which now and then he 
finds along- its course, he discovers the 
spawning- fish and he knows that the 
springtime is here. Into the burrow he 
watches the sly fox enter with the con- 
sort of his choice, and the whistling call 
of the Bob White in the bushes, tells him 
plainer than words that the downy beauty 
knows the one he loves, but woe unto the 
creature that attempts to steal away the 
chosen one of any of these children of the 
wood. All these things are known by the 
Red Man because he sees and hears them ; 
but the burden which weighs so heavily 
upon the heart of the painted pale-face, 
that miserable creature must bear alone, 
for the Red Man knows not of its nature.” 

When the person addressed as Rattle- 
snake had ceased to speak, the savage 
rose and walked slowly and deliberately 


28 


LAURA LAMAR. 


to where the placid pool of the spring* 
lay motionless and g'lassy and g-azed in- 
tently into the depths of the water, as if 
seeking some treasured object. 

“ What sees the Jumping Fox, now?” 
inquired Rattlesnake, noting the absorbed 
manner of the Indian. 

“Jumping Pox sees his own face as 
clearly as the lark sees the sunshine 
breaking over the hill-tops at early morn- 
ing, and” — said the Indian, as he looked 
steadfastly downward in front of him, 
“he- sees something else.” 

“What is it?” said Rattlesnake, 
eagerly, half rising as if fearing danger. 

“He sees the secret of the heart of 
Rattlesnake,” said the savage without 
moving a muscle. 

“Ha, tell me that secret, thou dusky 
wizard of the Alleghenies,” said Rattle- 
snake, laughing. 

“My first look tells me that he is in 
love.” 

“What else !” 

The Indian gazed long and intently 
without replying, then said slowly and 
distinctly : 


LAURA LAMAR. 


29 


“My second look tells me his heart 
has been crushed.” 

Leaping from the place where he sat, 
Rattlesnake stepped hastily to the side 
of the Indian, and, grasping- his arm 
tightly, whispered hoarsely : 

“Rook again, Jumping Fox, look 
again. Who crushed the heart of Rattle- 
snake?” 

“A pale-face.” 

“How?” 

“By stealing his white squaw.” 

“And how did he do this?” 

“By the lying flattery of his tongue; 
the panther has lured her to his den and 
now keeps her there.” 

“Where is the den. Jumping Pox?” 

“In the wigwam on the rock where 
the two rivers meet.” 

“Sorcerer, wizard, prophet;” ex- 
claimed Rattlesnake as he seized the In- 
dian by the shoulders, turned him around 
and looked him squarely in the eyes, 
“tell me by what means you have made 
this discovery, for the red pale-face well 
knows you did not see it in the spring.” 


30 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“Ug*!!!” grunted the savage, as he 
took a seat on the log from which Rattle- 
snake had risen, and motioned the latter 
to a place beside him, “does the shiny 
Rattlesnake really wish to know?’’ 

“He does.” 

“Does Rattlesnake remember the 
words he spoke to the beautiful white 
squaw but three suns ago?” 

“He does.” 

“Jumping Fox did not know their 
meaning then. He does now, and, to-day, 
Rattlesnake told the rest when he nar- 
rated the love-story of the dumb children 
of the forest.” 

“And so he did,” replied the other, 
“but, if we are to believe what has been 
often told us by the white race, the 
Indian is unacquainted with those tender 
sentiments of love and affection which 
stir the heart of the pale-face and which, 
in many cases, shape his entire destiny.” 

For a few moments the Indian stood 
and gazed into the blazing fire before 
him, then, rising to the fullest height of 
his giant form, he scowled viciously and 


LAURA LAMAR. 


31 


struck himself upon the breast, yet 
uttered not a word. Resuming* his sit- 
ting* posture, he leaned toward the white 
man and said in a low, plaintive tone: 

“Pale-face, the trouble of many g*reat 
suns has made us brothers. When we 
were young* and strong* and active, each 
trod his little path many leag*ues away on 
the banks of the Susquehanna. Since 
then, the cursed law of the pale-face has 
driven us into the wilderness where each 
must share the fortune of the other. It 
is well, therefore, that we should meet 
our joys and sorrows tog*ether. 

“Listen, Rattlesnake, the pale-faces 
declare the Indian youth and the Indian 
maiden know not what is love. Let every 
child of the forest keep silent; let the 
wind cease even its lowest whispers while 
the Red Man tells his pale-face brother 
the love-tale of his youth. Many g*reat 
suns ag*o, more than Rattlesnake can 
count on his hands and feet, the home of 
the tribe to which Jumping Pox belonged 
was situated beside the great rolling 
river. In that tribe was an Indian 


32 


LAURA LAMAR. 


maiden, whose smile was sweetest and 
whose words were softest when she spoke 
to Jumping- Pox. Her skin was as smooth 
as the skin of a new born Indian babe; 
her eyes were like the darkest midnig-ht 
and her hair was more g-lossy than the 
coat of the blackest raven in the wood. 
Her form was erect and g-raceful and her 
step was as light and airy as the fawn 
that treads the bank of the murmuring 
stream. 

“When Jumping Pox was away on 
the chase, she sighed constantly for his 
coming, as the winter wind among the 
bare branches of the leafless trees sighs 
for the warm breath of the springtime. 
When he returned, she ran far out of the 
village to meet him and tears of joy fell 
fast as she reclined her head upon his 
manly bosom. Hand in hand we would 
enter the villiage and in her own wigwam, 
together we would eat the venison which 
I had killed and the corn she had roasted 
by her own fire and raised with her own 
hands. This corn, all the tribe declared 
grew faster than that of any other maid, 


LAURA LAMAR. 


33 


because, as she said, she bathed the 
ground in which it grew with her tears 
at midnig-ht. 

“The beloved old chief of the tribe 
saw that Jumping* Pox loved the maiden 
and he smiled upon them as they passed 
him beside his wig*wam door. Then, 
when another sun had come and gfone. 
Jumping* Pox took courage and asked the 
old chief to give him the young maiden 
for his wife. The father of his people 
smiled again and said: 

“‘Go upon the chase. Jumping Pox, 
and when you return will I answer you.’ 
The youth was glad and went out upon 
the chase. When he returned, he was 
laden with the choicest game. Then did 
the chief tell him that when the spring- 
time came, he should wed the dusky 
maiden. 

“In an evil hour, there came from 
the land of ice and snow a number of 
Indians to visit our tribe and when they 
went away they carried her with them, 
and, though my tribe followed theirs and 
fought for her many long weary suns. 


34 


LAURA LAMAR. 


we could not take her, for that tribe was 
like the wild pig^eons that swarmed the 
woods in the springtime and its arm was 
as strong as the hurricane, while my 
tribe was small, only to your knee, and 
our arm no stronger than the arm of a babe. 
They carried her to the land of everlast- 
ing snow, and through all these great suns 
the heart of Jumping Pox has been 
crushed. Since then his hand has been 
against all men. Pale-face, I have done.” 

Leaping from the place where he sat, 
and grasping the hand of the swarthy 
Indian, Rattlesnake said: 

“We are brothers indeed. Jumping 
Pox. Swear to me you will help me 
secure the woman I love and I will help 
you secure the one you love.” 

Without raising his eyes from the 
ground, the Indian replied slowly and 
softly: 

“Jumping Pox will be happy when 
he sees Rattlesnake in possession of the 
woman he loves but he will never more 
see the squaw who was the light of his 
early youth.” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


35 


“And why not?” asked Rattlesnake, 
quickly. 

“She is dead. .Rattlesnake spoke 
truly when he said that the Red Man un- 
derstands the lang-uag-e of the streams in 
the mountains, for, to Jumping- Fox, they 
sing- the love-song- of his Indian maiden, 
who is now roaming- the everg-reen forests 
of the happy hunting- g-rounds and chant- 
ing- her song-s to the river of life. In the 
roar of the dashing- torrents, in the mur- 
mur of the little streamlet that g-lides 
through the quiet g'len and in the mourn- 
ful sound of the waters of the river, as it 
winds through the broad, level valley, the 
song she sings over there reaches the ear 
of the one she loved and left to mourn in 
the wilderness of this life. The heart 
of Jumping Pox is crushed forever, and 
yet the pale-face nation says the Indian 
knows not what is love.” 

For several minutes the whole party 
gazed in silence at the fast fading fire be- 
fore them. The morning sun sent its 
sweetest smile in a profusion of glisten- 
ing splinters through the trembling 


36 


LAURA LAMAR. 


leaves which sung their softest carol to 
all nature, as they were fanned by the 
soothing zephyrs that crept slowly and 
peacefully here and there among the trees 
of the dense, unbroken forest that sur- 
rounded the group on all sides, yet the 
smiles of the sunshine and the murmur 
of the winds were not heard. All about 
them was a grand chorus of the songsters 
of the wood, each feathered chorister 
seeming to try to excel every other and 
all together making the welkin ring with 
bird-notes of joy and gladness. The 
music fell upon deaf ears. 

A gay little squirrel came down a 
nearby tree, to what would seem to be a 
dangerous nearness to the silent figures, 
and, in bantering audacity, barked ve- 
hemently at the unwelcome intruders, 
yet he was not noticed. A venturesome 
fox walked boldly out of his den in the 
rocks, several rods away, and, standing 
on a high jutting point, in an attitude of 
combined fear and defiance, sent forth a 
series of half yelps, half barks, that the 
creature doubtless imagined would scare 


LAURA LAMAR. 


37 


the strange objects away. His presence 
was unknown. It was not until a huge 
rattlesnake — a most appropriate visitor — 
had crawled from a narrow fissure be- 
tween two rocks and crept so near to the 
leader of the party, who had resumed his 
seat, that its slimy skin touched his hand, 
as it lay flat upon the log across which 
the serpent wormed its way, that Anson 
sprang up wfith an oath of surprise and 
horror, followed instantly by the re- 
mainder of the party. 

His terror was only momentary, how- 
ever, for, when he saw what it was that 
had so suddenly awakened him from his 
deep and dark reverie, he laughed heart- 
ily at his own timidity. 

The revolting creature hurried back 
to its hiding place, and lay with its head 
protruding from the crevice in which it 
sought refuge. Prom its gleaming eyes 
came a look of both wonder and resent- 
ment and its forked tongue shot forth 
with lightning rapidity from between its 
wide open jaws; yet, it seemed neither to 
desire to attack nor retreat from the 


38 


LAURA LAMAR. 


gruesome sight before it. Addressing 
the serpent, Anson said: 

“Well, you slimy rascal, you came 
very near frightening some one, didn’t 
you? It is not the first time that you 
have been charged with having evil in- 
tentions toward the human race. Ages 
and ages ago, your ancestors were ac- 
cused of putting the devil into the first 
woman that was created and my ex- 
perience with the deceitful sex leads me 
to believe that his Satanic majesty finds 
a lodgment in her heart yet. 

“The average human being looks 
upon you with disgust and hatred, and I, 
myself, must admit that you are an un- 
canny object, but, as men are largely the 
creatures of circumstance and association, 
I find that even the company of a snake 
may not be altogether unendurable when 
one is in the mood for studying animal 
nature. You are an animal and so is 
mankind, and, when I consider how much 
some human beings are like serpents, I 
am constrained to believe that there is a 
closer kinship existing, than the so-called 


LAURA LAMAR. 


39 


hig’her animals would be willing’ to con- 
cede. With the eye of an Evil Spirit you 
charm the timid feathered songsters of 
the wood until, by some unknown power, 
you draw them into the death-trap of 
your open jaws, although they loathe, 
despise and fear you. I think I may 
learn a profitable lesson from this trait 
of yours, for there is a certain bird that I 
must capture at all hazards, even though 
I find it necessary to use the subtle arts 
of the snake to accomplish my ends. 

“That you are a creature most hid- 
eous in the eyes of the human race, is 
quite true, yet you remind me of myself, 
because the hand of every man is against 
us both. We are outlaws. The civilized 
world has put a price upon our heads, 
and some time we will both be likely to 
pay the price. Knowing this, we are 
enemies to all humanity, and will strike 
them a death blow whenever opportunity 
presents itself, as long as you are able to 
lift your head or I my arm. 

“This Indian,” said Anson, con- 
tinuing to address the snake, as though 


40 


LAURA LAMAR. 


it were an intelligent being instead of a 
mass of dumb animation, and pointing 
over his shoulder to where Jumping Pox 
had resumed his seat and was sitting in 
an attitude of stoical indifference to all 
about him, “this Indian is one of our 
number also. Long ago he murdered 
some defenceless white v/omen and chil- 
dren. He belonged to a tribe of friendly 
Indians and they delivered him at once to 
the whites, but he escaped, with my as- 
sistance, and to-day is an outlaw also.” 

Here Henry Anson stopped speaking 
and gazed steadfastly in the direction of 
the serpent, for, although all was silent, 
there came to his ears a still, small voice 
which inquired: “and what did you do 
that there is a price upon your head?” 

“What’s that you say?” he exclaimed, 
in a low, hoarse voice, as he riveted his 
eyes upon the little, shiny balls that glit- 
tered on the head of the snake, and which 
seemed to draw him nearer to the forked 
tongue. 

The still, small voice repeated the 
question. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


41 


“Curse you, you devil. I’ll choke 
the life out of you,” said Anson, as he 
extended his hand toward the slimy rep- 
tile before him. The snake drew back 
its head to strike, but at that instant a 
simple grunt, “ugh!” was heard, and 
Jumping Pox seized the extended arm of 
Anson and gave it such a sudden jerk as 
to turn him completely around as quickly 
as if he were a child, while the snake 
disappeared among the rocks. 

When Anson had pulled his wits 
together, he grasped the hand of the 
savage who had saved his life, and press- 
ing it warmly for some time, said in a 
hoarse whisper: 

“Come, let us leave this place. It is 
haunted by the Evil Spirit.” 

“Ugh!” grunted the savage, “it is 
the home of Mish-she-Man-i-tou. ” 

“More than that, the pale-faces in 
the wigwam on the hill will rouse all the 
people of their race that they can get 
together and be on our trail soon. We 
must go far into the mountains for many 
suns until all is quiet, when we will re- 
turn and — ” 


42 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“And what, Rattlesnake?” 

“What says Jumping- Pox?” 

“We will scalp the pale-face in the 
tepee on the rock where the two rivers 
meet and then we will carry off the pretty 
squaws.” 

“So we will,” answ^ered Rattlesnake. 

“One will be the wife of Rattlesnake 
and the other the wdfe of Jumping- Pox,” 
the Indian said with a hideous g-rin of 
satisfaction that struck disgust to the 
stony heart of Anson. 

“Gods,” he murmured under his 
breath, “the loathsome creature thinks 
he will get the beautiful young maiden 
for his wdfe. I must have her mother 
for my wife, but before that girl shall be 
compelled to endure the embraces of that 
filthy creature, the wolves shall pick his 
bones and the crow shall make a nest for 
her young ones of his scalp. 

“Let us away,” he continued, with- 
out apparently hearing what had been 
said. 

When he was ready to start, he 
noticed that one of the Indians did not 


LAURA LAMAR. 


43 


move, but sat whetting* his knife on a 
smooth stone. 

“Come, Raccoon, let us g-o to the 
mountains,” he said. 

“Raccoon not g*o now,” said the 
other, still sharpening* his knife. 

“And why not?” 

“Raccoon g*et scalp of curly haired 
squaw.” 

“Ugh!” grunted Jumping Pox, 
“what Raccoon say?” 

“Raccoon get scalp of pale-face 
squaw.” 

“Ugh! what about?” 

“She kill two Red Men. She has an 
Evil Spirit. She must die.” 

“Did she get their scalps?” asked 
Jumping Pox, sternly. 

“No.” 

“Did you bury them?” 

“’M, hm.” 

“Raccoon follow Rattlesnake. Curly 
haired maiden soon be Jumping Pox’s 
squaw, ugh!” 

The young man rose and followed in 
silence. 


44 


LAURA LAMAR. 


CHAPTER III. 

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 

During- the remaining portion of the 
week in which the unhappy incident oc- 
curred, which produced such a sensation 
in the family of John Lamar, Laura 
seemed to be wrapped in deep and serious 
thought. Although she performed the 
duties of the household with the same 
willingness and dexterity that she had 
always manifested, the mother noticed 
that she assumed a demeanor more grave 
than was her former manner, which 
caused her much apprehension for the 
future happiness of the girl. 

The cabin home of John Lamar, was 
at least five miles distant from the habi- 
tation of any other while man, in conse- 
quence of which, the girl had grown up 
to maturity with practically no other as- 


LAURA LAMAR. 


45 


sociates in her later years than those of 
the immediate household ; yet she pos- 
sessed a refinement in manner and a de- 
g'ree of education which would surprise 
any one until an acquaintance with the 
mother was formed, when it could be 
seen that she had been trained by a well 
informed, and evenly balanced mind as 
well as a warm, generous heart. 

It was a habit of the girl to stand on 
a huge rock which constituted the cap- 
stone of the perpendicular cliff that rose 
from the bed of the Two Lick and reached 
an altitude of more than fifty feet, and, 
as the sun crept slowly above Chestnut 
Ridge, which lay to the east and across 
the stream, she would pour forth in the 
harmonious blending of the purest mel- 
odies, the songs of life and love that were 
always learned and sung by every girl of 
the pioneer days. At eventide, too, when 
all nature was wrapped in slumber, with 
no companion near her, with only the 
stars that shone above her and the dark- 
ness that surrounded her, she often 
wended her way to this same spot and 


46 


LAURA LAMAR. 


amused herself by answering- the plaintive 
cry of the whip-poor-will, the startling- 
screech of the night-hawk or the mourn- 
ful call of the horned hoot-owl, in such 
clear and clever tones of imitation as to 
draw these children of the night about 
her in apparent amazement and wonder. 

She had always been a girl, but now, 
she was suddenly transformed into a 
thoughtful woman. No matter what she 
might be doing or what manner of conver- 
sation might be engaged in by the family, 
she appeared to constantly hear the echo 
of those terrible words, “Don’t fail to 
tell Loco I am still camping on her trail.” 

What could they mean? She had 
known for some time that the word 
“Loco” was a pet name which had been 
given to her mother by some one in the long 
years of the past. She never knew by 
whom nor when, though her mother’s 
real name was Laura. She remembered 
also, that when she was a child, her 
mother had sometimes addressed her by 
this name, but it seemed to pain the 
father and the mother gave it up. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


47 


Ag-ain and ag'ain, had she endeavored 
to induce her parents to tell her some- 
thing of her life in the days of her early 
childhood, for, the older she grew, the 
more she became convinced that a part of 
her history was, as yet, unwritten and 
unrelated, so far as she knew, but when- 
ever she attempted to introduce this, to 
her, all-interesting topic of conversation, 
the parents always evaded her questions, 
which, with the anxiety of a woman, made 
her more eager than ever to learn the 
truth. 

Her womanly curiosity was now 
thoroughly aroused. She felt that in 
some way there was something dreadful 
about the disguised white man and the 
influence of his presence over her mother, 
and she made up her mind to inquire of her 
about him at the first favorable oppor- 
tunity. This came sooner than she ex- 
pected, for, one afternoon, as she was 
sitting on the old capstone with her eyes 
riveted on the scene beyond the the creek, 
and softly singing the favorite song her 
mother had taught her: — 


48 


LAURA LAMAR. 


THE SWEET OLD SUSQUEHANNA. 


“I am dreaming- now to-day, 

Of a cottage, far away 

In the shadows of a quaint old water-mill. 
Where the sunshine from above 
Sheds its kisses sweet as love. 

On the merry, laughing ripple and the rill. 
Where the moon still softly smiles. 

In her dear old-fashioned style, 

On the lovers in the halo of her glow. 

Oh, why did I ever roam. 

From my childhood’s happy home. 

Where the sweet old Susquehanna flows. 


“ There ’s a song that comes to me. 

O’er the mountains wild and free. 

And its music falls the softest on my ear. 

’Tis the song I love so well. 

As it echoes through the dell. 

To my lonely heart it brings the warmest 
cheer. 

Oh, how often have I strayed. 

Through the valley and the glade. 

Where the violet and the daisy kiss the rose. 
And in fancy now I rove. 

In the quiet, shady grove. 

Where the sweet old Susquehanna flows. 


/ 


LAURA LAMAR. 


49 


“Oh, the warble of the birds, 

Oh the sweet and loving- words 

Of my mother, as she kissed her darling- 
child. 

At the dawning- of the day. 

And the twilight, soft and gray, 

I can hear her voice, so gentle and so mild. 
Oh, the never ending joy, 

Of the days, when I, a boy. 

Watched the sparkle of the river in its 
glow. 

I can hear the moaning wind. 

In the waving mountain pine. 

Where the sweet old Susquehanna flows. 


“I can hear the river sigh. 

As it slowly passes by, 

When the night-winds throug-h the green, old 
hemlocks creep. 

I am longing now, to stand 
In my dear old native land, 

Vv'here my father and my mother sweetly 
sleep. 

When my soul shall fly away. 

To the realms of endless day. 

When my eyes, with trembling hands, you 
gently close. 

When my heart is cold and still 
Let me rest among the hills. 

Where the sweet old Susquehanna flows.” 


50 


LAURA LAMAR. 


Mrs. Lamar stole quietly to her and 
seated herself beside the startled girl. 

Laying her arm about her and draw- 
ing her close to her, she kissed her on the 
smooth, red cheek as she said: 

“My daughter seems very much in- 
terested in the scene before her, and in- 
deed she may well be, for it is certainly 
an inspiring one.” 

“Yes, mother, it seems to be a mir- 
ror in which is reflected all the variations 
of life, a panorama in which are presented 
to the eye, many strange and beautiful 
analogies.” 

“My daughter is both an artist and 
a poet; will she analyze the picture for 
her mother? ” 

“She will,” answered the daughter 
without removing her eyes from the beau- 
tiful landscape before her. “Below us 
lies the clear glassy stream. It is the 
stream of human life. Sometimes it flows 
along in quite contentment, singing the 
sweet song of love and happiness as it 
moves over the stones which form its bed; 
it is then the human heart which is enjoy- 


LAURA LAMAR. 


51 


ing’ a peaceful restfulness that promises 
to live forever. A cloud rises in the sky; 
rain descends in torrents; the waters 
roar in the mountains, the stream be- 
comes ang-ry and swollen, dark and 
muddy, and rushes forward in impetuous 
haste, dashing itself to pieces upon the 
rocks or carrying destruction to whatever 
may be in its way. It is then the human 
heart sorely troubled.” 

“And yet,” said the mother, gently, 
“when the storm has passed away, the 
stream becomes tranquil once more and 
remains so, much longer than it was 
troubled.” 

“ It is so much like time, too, mother. ’ ’ 

“How so, my child?” 

“It is always coming, it is always 
here, it is always gone.” 

“And,” said the mother, “it is so 
like the human soul.” 

“And why, mother?” 

“ Because it never dies. Its waters 
mingle with those of the Conemaugh, 
then with those of the Monongahela, the 
Ohio, the Mississippi and finally the 


52 


LAURA LAMAR. 


Great Ocean; but they are not lost; the 
form of life is simply changed. They 
come back again to moisten the bosom of 
the earth and thus to minister to other 
living things; but I have interrupted my 
daughter in her description of the lovely 
picture.” 

“’Tis 'well you have, mother, for the 
picture I see 'would be a dark one, in- 
deed, were it not for the gleams of sun- 
shine your words flash upon it. Look 
beyond the stream, mother, do you see 
that fox chasing the little, innocent 
chipmunk?” 

“I do.” 

“See, it has caught and killed the 
helpless creature.” 

“And what is that like?” 

“That fox was a murderous Indian, 
killing innocent and helpless white 
people.” 

The mother shuddered in silence as 
she remembered the name of Jumping 
Pox, a friendly Indian, who, more than 
twenty years before, had treacherously 
murdered some women and children far 


LAURA LAMAR. 


53 


away on the banks of the lower Susque- 
hanna, and who had been declared an 
outlaw. He had disappeared and she had 
often wondered what had become of him. 

“Look farther up the slope, mother,” 
said Laura, “there you behold an end- 
less number of chestnut, pine and hem- 
lock trees. Below them may be seen 
clusters of small bushes. The trees are 
the Indians, the bushes are the whites 
and these, the Indians will crush out of 
existence.” 

“Let my daughter look again and 
she will see here and there the towering 
head of a tall, sturdy oak among the 
myriads of smaller growth. My prophecy 
is, my child, that the oak will be stand- 
ing and strong when the hemlocks have 
all fallen before it, just the same as the 
white race will occupy these beautiful 
hills when the Red Men shall have all 
passed away.” 

“Let us hope it may be so, mother, 
but think of the horrible sacrifice of 
human life that will take place before 
that happy time arrives.” 


54 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“’Tis true, my child, and yet the 
Red Man is fig-hting- for what he believes 
was g-iven him by the Great Spirit.” 

“Mother, I often wonder why the 
wise Supreme Ruler ever created the 
Indian race. I can think of nothing- that 
can be more dreadful than an Indian.” 

“There 2.9 but one other,” said the 
mother. 

“And what is that?” 

“A white man.” 

Laura turned her eyes toward the 
speaker in blank astonishment, but the 
latter was gazing* steadfastly across the 
stream at some object which apparently 
attracted her attention. “See, Laura,” 
said she, “the fox has turned his head 
toward us, do you notice that one side of 
it is white, appearing almost bald, while 
the other side contains a natural growth 
of hair?” 

Laura laughed outright, then said 
gaily: “For all the world like one of the 
Indians I encountered in my second day’s 
adventure.” 

It was now the time of the mother to 


LAURA LAMAR. 


55 


be astonished, and, as she drew the ^irl 
closer to her, a convulsive tremor ran 
througfh her frame. 

“Look again, mother, at the picture.” 

“And what does my daughter see 
now? ” 

“I see a hideous rattlesnake crawl- 
ing stealthily toward the fox, which is 
greedily devouring the carcass of the 
chipmunk. The slimy creature is now 
close to its unsuspecting victim. It coils 
the lower half of its body into a little 
circular heap, while it raises the upper 
half in rigid silence. Note the curve of 
its neck as it draws its head backward 
just a little. There, it has struck the 
fox and sent the poison of its piercing 
fangs into his veins. With a piteous 
yelp, he turns to see what his enemy is, 
and, when he has done so, utters a low, 
mournful cry and hurries away into the 
bushes, for he knows that death is near.” 

Both women sat for some time in 
silence, with their eyes riveted to the 
spot where two tragedies had so quickly 
occurred, and watched the reptile as it 


56 


LAURA LAMAR. 


disappeared behind a fallen tree. Then 
the mother murmured, as if to herself: 
“I could wish it had been the snake that 
was killed.” 

“Mother, do you know that the snake 
reminds me strongly of the painted white 
man who uttered those horrible words?” 

“ The analogy is certainly a fit one, 
my child. As the rattlesnake is to be 
more dreaded than the fox, so is that 
white man to be more dreaded than his 
Indian ally, whose head seemed to you to 
so much resemble that of the fox.” 

“Mother,” said Laura, after a long 
pause, “who is that dreadful white man?” 

“Henry Anson, my child.” 

“And who is Henry Anson?” 

“A murderous outlaw, whose hands 
are dripping with the blood of innocence 
and who is a renegade fit only for death, 
in the eyes of the white race.” 

“You know him then, mother?” 

“ Would to God I could say I do not.” 

“Was it the words he spoke to me 
that caused you so much pain of heart 
the other day, when I told you of them?” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


57 


“Words are sometimes more fatal 
than the keenest knife,” she answered. 

“He must be a dark-hearted, dread- 
ful man. Will you tell me of him some- 
time, mother?” 

“Yes, my child, sometime, but the 
nigfht-dews now fall; let us g-o into the 
house and put our trust in Him who doeth 
all thing's well. She kissed the upturned 
face before her and with the arms of 
each encircling- the waist of the other, 
the two walked slowly up the hill and 
entered the cabin. 

When they had closed the door, Mrs. 
Lamar took a pair of scissors from a nail 
and, seating- herself, drew Laura down 
upon her lap, and, without a w^ord of 
explanation, clipped one of the long-est 
and most g-lossy curls from her head. 

“Why, mammy, what have you 
done?” 

For answ^er, the mother held the 
shiny ring-let up in the lig-ht for a moment, 
then kissed it warmly and placed it care- 
fully in her bosom. 

“Mother,” said Laura, as the tears 


58 


LAURA LAMAR. 


beg-an to gather in her eyes, “what does 
this mean?” 

“A lover may claim my baby some 
day and I do not wish to forget her.” 

“Why do yon trifle with me in this 
manner, mother? Why keep me longer 
in such horrible suspense? There is 
something dreadful that is preying upon 
your soul; why not tell me your secret? 
I may be able to help you.” 

“Your young heart will see enough 
trouble without being burdened with the 
sorrows of others, my child.” 

“I am not a child, mother. A month 
ago I was a child; a wild, frolicsome, 
fanciful child, but now I am a woman; a 
grave, thoughtful, calculating woman.” 

A calculating' YfomdinT' queried her 
mother, pressing the daughter closely 
to her. 

“Yes, mother, a calculating, reason- 
ing woman.” 

“A calculating, reasoning woman, 
is one who, in times like these, is brave 
enough to meet any fate that might over- 
take her. Do you believe you have be- 


LAURA LAMAR. 


59 


come such a woman in so short a time?” 

“I never was a coward, mother.” 

“The answer is worthy of you. 
Know then, my daughter, that the time 
may come when you will be called upon to 
face a reality compared with which death 
would be a welcome guest.” 

“And what is that, mother?” 

“The loathsome embraces of a 
savage.” 

“Ora renegade white man, mother?” 
Laura asked in perfect coolness. 

Mrs. Lamar turned away with a look 
of horror. Going to a little box that sat 
in a corner, she returned, holding in her 
hand two black cases. Looking the girl 
squarely in the eyes, she said: 

“ If the time should ever come when 
you were face to face with such a possi- 
bility as I have mentioned, what would be 
your course?” 

“Self-destruction,” answered the 
girl, quietly. 

“Then you might need this,” and 
she drew from one of the cases, a long, 
narrow, glistening dagger, which she 


60 


LAURA LAMAR. 


handed to the g-irl saying: “Take it and 
I will keep the other, for I have strange 
forebodings that there is danger ahead.” 

The girl seized the knife eagerly. 
The mother threw the two cases into the 
blazing fire, and the women secreted the 
daggers just as the father entered the 
room. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


61 


CHAPTER IV. 

A UNION OF HEARTS. 

A short time after the thrilling* 
events took place, which have previously 
been narrated in these pag*es, John Lamar 
gathered together the few settlers who 
were near enough to him to be communi- 
cated wdth, and followed the trail of the 
marauders, which led directly toward the 
mountains until they reached a rapid 
stream, when all traces of the pursued 
party disappeared. Some of the more 
courageous desired to go up the stream 
in the hope of overtaking the miscreants, 
but Lamar declared that he believed his 
home would be attacked by prowling 
savages in his absence, and it was de- 
cided to return and abandon any further 
pursuit. 

The events of the subsequent week 


62 


LAURA LAMAR. 


seemed to prove that all present danger 
had disappeared, for no sign of* Indians 
could be found anywhere near the cabin 
home and the family soon settled down 
to the even tenor of its way, although it 
could be observed that an air of dread 
and apprehension surrounded the mem- 
bers of this heretofore most happy trio. 

One bright Sunday morning, Laura 
was noticed to be more thoughtful than 
usual. Her demeanor toward her par- 
ents was particularly affectionate. Her 
words fell in accents the softest, yet in 
tones which betokened a sadness that was 
foreign to her sunny nature. Again and 
again she placed her arms about the neck 
of those she had always loved the^ best 
and warmly pressed her ruby lips to the 
wrinkled brow of one and the soft cheek 
of the other, while her gentle words fell 
upon their willing ears like the sweetest 
music. 

By and by, they missed her and when 
the mother sought her, she saw her sit- 
ting on the self-same old capstone, look- 
ing intently toward the ridge across the 


LAURA LAMAR. 


63 


stream, on the crest of which could be 
seen an opening* which marked a prema- 
ture road that seemed to beg*in exactly at 
the horizon. 

She was certainly the embodiment of 
g*irlish innocence and rustic beauty, as 
she sat with her eyes fixed upon the spot 
where the trail came over the ridge. 
Presently, a dove alighted upon one 
shoulder and was followed quickly by its 
mate, which took its position on the 
other. They were not strangers to her 
nor she to them and it is but fair to sup- 
pose that she expected them, for she 
opened her hands, disclosing some 
crumbs which she had brought from the 
house. As soon as the pets saw this, 
they flew down into her lap and began to 
industriously partake of the morning 
meal. Stroking the birds lightly, she 
said to them in the softest accents: 

“Yes, yes, here you are again. The 
one comes never without the other. I 
have watched your affectionate attentions 
toward each other with much interest 
and have often wondered whether, in the 


64 


LAURA LAMAR. 


human family, there ever existed such an 
example of tender devotion between those 
who have pledged their love to each other 
for life. I have even dreamed, yes, 
vaguely dreamed, when looking at you, of 
a time when I myself might be the happy 
recipient of an affection which never dies 
nor ever grows cold. I have dreamed of 
a little home, somewhere, situated on 
the top of some beautiful hill, and in the 
door of which I am standing, and, looking 
across a beautiful stream, somewhere, I 
behold the one who alone fills all my heart 
and soul, and whose heart I alone occupy, 
as each of you, my feathered pets, seem 
to fill the heart and soul of the other.” 

As she uttered these words, she 
lifted her eyes toward the crest of the 
ridge, and blushed crimson as she said, 
beneath her breath: 

“ There is the one whose image is a 
part of my very self and with whose heart 
I sometime hope to see my own insepar- 
ably linked. Go, thou gallant fluffy lover 
and downy sweetheart, to your trysting 
place in yon densely shaded elm, for I 


LAURA LAMAR. 


65 . 


must greet Walter Vanway, the prince 
charming- who comes my way;” and kiss- 
ing* each g-entle dove, she held them on 
her outstretched hands, then they flew 
away to their nest. 

Turning* her eyes toward the place 
heretofore mentioned, she waved her 
handkerchief above her head three times 
in a peculiar manner and was answered 
by the horseman on the hill, who then 
g*ave his animal the rein and rode rapidly 
down the slope toward the lower ford of 
the creek. Here he crossed, and when 
he reached the old-fashioned farm g*ate, 
whose creaking* wooden hinges could be 
heard afar off, he found it open and, be- 
hind a clump of bushes, he caught • sight 
of a pretty red dress, whose owner he 
knew quite well, was attempting to con- 
ceal herself. Dismounting and dropping 
the rein of his bridle, he stole to where 
she was standing, holding the sides of 
her sunbonnet closely together in that 
bantering way so well understood by 
every country boy of that time and this — 
and city boy too, for that matter — and 


66 


LAURA LAMAR. 


putting- one arm about her waist, he 
found it an easy task to push the pretty 
bonnet back over her head, press a kiss 
upon her warm lips and receive as good 
as he sent. 

They did not wait for an engagement, 
any more than lovers in both country and 
town do in this progressive age, but 
observed the good old way of those who 
are in love — till then and now. 

“So you thought you would hide from 
me, did you? Well, I’ll just steal another 
plum while an opportunity presents 
itself.” 

“Yes, and look what you’ve done.” 

“What have I done?” 

“You’ve gone and left that gate open 
and let all the geese out and there they 
go squaaking and flying to the creek for 
the foxes to eat. ’ 

“Yes, and you’ve scared my horse 
until he has gone snorting and flying after 
them. I wonder what will eat him.” 

“Oh, that’s too bad, now you’ll have 
to— to— ” 

“ To what?” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


67 


“To stay all night.” 

“I’ll have to walk home.” 

“Why, no you won’t do any such 
thing. The wolves would get you sure 
or some old black bear would meet you at 
the top of the ridge and give you an em- 
brace you wouldn’t enjoy,” she said 
shyly. 

“Well, if it is to be a matter of 
embraces, I guess I’ll stay; but come, 
let us see if we can get those outlandish 
geese back and let the horse go.” 

“Let him go to grass, Walter?” 

“I wish he would go to grass long 
enough for me to catch him, but see,” he 
said eagerly, when they had reached the 
stream. “There is a fox swimming 
toward one already. The goose sees it 
and is very much frightened. Where’s 
my gun? Back there by that bush where 
I left it, of course. Shoo — shoo! Hish 
there, you thief! Confound that horse; 
there he stands just across the stream 
eating grass. There is nothing for me 
to do but to wade across and get him, 
Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes and all, 


68 


LAURA LAMAR. 


then ride him after that fox. Hike there, 
you rascal, let that g-oose alone.” 

He dashed into the water forgetful of 
the stepping stones just up the stream a 
little way, at the ford, and waded across 
the creek to where the horse was quietly 
and contentedly eating.grass. 

Laura stood at the water’s edge be- 
low the ford and shouted and waved her 
apron violently at the fox, as is the in- 
variable habit of a woman on such occa- 
sions, but the varmint pursued his game 
on down the stream into deep water, and, 
by the time the gallant youth had caught 
and remounted his horse, the fox had 
seized the noisiest gander of the flock by 
the neck and disappeared in the bushes. 

After a lot of shooing and scolding 
by Laura and considerable'^shouting by 
Walter as he rode his horse to where the 
geese were, the bipeds were finally driven 
back into the lot. 

Dripping with wet, Walter went to 
the house where he attired himself in a 
suit of John Lamar’s w^earing apparel, 
which was enough too large for him to 


LAURA LAMAR. 


69 


make him look, as Laura expressed it, 
“like a stuffed toad.” 

His own clothes were soon dry and 
when he had put them on, he presented a 
very creditable appearance, all thing-s 
considered, and by this time, dinner was 
announced. 

After dinner the two young* people 
strolled arm in arm about the little home 
of the hardy pioneer, for some time; 
Walter chatting* quite g'aily all the while, 
althoug*h Laura seemed to be in a thoug*ht- 
ful mood. In the course of the prome- 
nade, they had reached the place where 
the capstone of the bluff lay in majestic 
silence, the spot of all the dearest to 
Laura, when Walter, noticing* her re- 
served manner, said pleasantly: 

“I think there is something* of a 
serious nature on the mind of my Turtle 
Dove to-day.” He always addressed her 
as his “Turtle Dove” when they were 
alone. 

“Come,” said she, taking* his hand 
and leading* him toward a rustic seat 
beneath the overhanging* boughs of two 


70 


LAURA LAMAR. 


trees that grew side by side and whose 
crooked branches, like so many curving 
arms, were twined and intertwined to- 
gether so completely, that it would have 
been impossible to remove one tree with- 
out injuring the other. 

In order to reach the seat, they 
walked across the capstone and when 
they had stepped upon it, Laura stopped 
and pointed to the tops of the two trees 
just mentioned, and said: 

“Walter, do you see how the branches 
of those two trees twine themselves to- 
gether?’’ 

“Yes,” said Walter, “I have noticed 
it quite often; especially when you and 
I have been seated beneath them.” 

She blushed a little, then went on 
speaking as if she had not heard his 
remark. “They have been companions 
ever since their little, green heads first 
peeped through the ground.” 

“So they have,” he replied, some- 
what mystified. 

“Do you know, Walter,” she said 
seriously, without removing her eyes, 


LAURA LAMAR. 


71 


“that I see much in nature which reminds 
me of human life? Are you ever so im- 
pressed?” 

“Very often, Laura; and I love to 
picture imag-inary human lives, fates and 
destinies, as I behold nature in its prime- 
val state.” 

“Do you recall anything* in human 
life that these twin elms resemble?” 

“Indeed I do.” 

“And what is it?” she asked. 

“These two trees represent your life 
and mine. When they were young*, they 
were you and I as we g*rew up tog*ether 
and were associates in the Conemaug*h 
valley. True, you were transplanted to 
that beautiful spot from — somewhere — ” 

“Walter,” she released his hand 
quickly and laying* hers on his arm, 
looked eag*erly into his eyes. 

“What is it. Turtle Dove?” 

“You say I was transplanted?” 

“Yes.” 

“From somewhere?” 

“Yes.” 

“Tell me, Walter,” and her whole 


72 


LAURA LAMAR. 


soul filled her eyes, “do you know where 
‘ somewhere * is ? “ 

“I do not understand you I am 
afraid.” 

“Do you know from where I was 
broug'ht to the Conemaugh valley?” 

“Why, no, nor little do I care. It is 
enough for me to know that when I was a 
little toddler, your parents moved to a 
place near my own home and there your 
father built a cabin. "But I fear you have 
knocked over the canvas on which I was 
painting my picture.” 

“Oh, I am so sorry I interrupted 
you, but to me there seems to- be a deep 
mystery concerning my early life.” 

“Of course, there is,” Walter an- 
swered carelessly. “The greatest mys- 
tery in the world is the mystery of human 
life. It is a mystery that never has been, 
nor ever will be unravelled by the human 
mind.” 

“Oh, you are a Mystery Man, I see. 
Go on with your picture.” 

“You will notice. Turtle Dove,” he 
went on, “that not very far from the 


LAURA LAMAR. 


73 


ground are several small branches which 
have grown toward each other and have 
been broken off.” 

“Well, what of it?” 

“That was you and I when we were 
playmates. Do you remember it?” 

“Indeed I do. It was as but yester- 
day. I could wish it were now; but what 
of the broken limbs?” 

“They tell us of the time when your 
father moved away, soon after an Indian 
scare caused your mother to be taken so 
suddenly ill. Then our hands were sep- 
arated.” 

She drew closer to him and her voice 
trembled as she replied slowly and softly: 

“ I remember also, that mother was 
suddenly stricken down about five years 
after we moved away from where you 
lived, and I heard her say to father one 
night, as I lay in my little trundle bed in 
the corner: ‘Oh, John, take me back to 
the Conemaugh valley. I can never live 
here.’ I wonder what she meant.” 

“I suppose she was lonely,” said 
Walter. “But they came back to the 


74 


LAURA LAMAR. 


Conemaug-h valley, and we were tog’ether 
ag-ain, just as the branches that appear a 
little hig-her have clasped their leafy 
hands.” 

“Yes, yes, g-o on,” said she. 

“Look a little farther up, Laura, and 
you will see that part of a limb of some 
size has been broken from the tree on the 
left.” 

“Well, what of that?” 

“That was you, when they separated 
us five years ag-o and your parents moved 
to this place, on the dashing* little Two 
Lick.” 

“Do you remember, Walter, that we 
also moved here shortly after mother re- 
covered from a severe illness?” 

“Yes, poor woman. I remember 
that your heart was almost broken be- 
cause you thought she was going to pass 
over the beautiful river; but she soon re- 
gained her strength and I believe she has 
been a strong woman ever since, although 
she seems to me to be just a little pale at 
this time.” 

“Well, have you finished painting 
your picture? ” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


75 


“There is little more to do. You 
see that the boug-hs and the branches and 
the twig-s and the leaves of the trees have 
become so closely entwined among* one 
another as to remain so, doubtless, 
throug*h a long* life.” 

He placed his arm g*ently about her 
waist and drew her unresisting* form 
closer to him, then led her to a g*reen 
mossy spot just beneath the trees. Here 
he paused, untied the string* of the pink 
sun bonnet and tossed it aside. Then he 
g*athered her long* curls in his hands, and 
placing* them in front of her shoulders, 
he retreated a step, and for a full minute, 
stood enveloped in a dream of love and 
admiration as he g*azed steadfastly upon 
the charming* sig*ht before him. 

“Laura,” said he, coming* to her and 
taking* both her hands in his. She did 
not answer, but bent her head a little 
lower, presenting*, if that were possible, 
a still more beautiful picture. 

“Laura,” he repeated softly, “look 
above you.” 

She slowly raised her eyes to where 


76 


LAURA LAMAR. 


the long arms of the trees wound them- 
selves together in a manner that sug- 
gested an unspoken love that was undy- 
ing and a silent affection which knew one 
heart only. 

“Laura,” and his voice grew low and 
husky, “as the lives of these beautiful 
gems of the forest are woven together by 
a thousand bonds, tell me, shall not our 
lives also be bound together by the golden 
cords of love and affection until death? ” 

The girl did not remove her gaze 
from the scene above her. The afternoon 
sun shot a glance through the leaves and 
beheld a merry twinkle in her hazel eyes 
as she closed her hands upon those of her 
lover, just a little, and said: 

“The warm breath of the balmy 
southwestern breeze falls softly upon the 
quivering leaves and they kiss one another 
in the ecstasy of their happiness. I 
wonder if that is like — like — ” 

“Yes, that is exactly like us,” said 
the ardent lover as he clasped her in his 
arms and gave her a shower of kisses. 
“There now, I think it would take a 
pretty good breeze to beat that.” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


77 


“A hurricane could,” she said shyly, 
and the hurricane came quickly and ef- 
fectively, while the dove in the branches 
overhead cooed his love-tale into the ear 
of his mate. 

* . * * * * * * 

When the sun had hid his sleepy 
head behind the fring'ey crest of the west- 
ern hills, the full moon rose slowly above 
the eastern horizon and smiled again, as 
it had done a thousand times before, and 
will do a thousand times again, when it 
sees two lovers bidding each other good 
night in the good old fashioned way that 
has never yet been patented, nor perhaps 
ever will be. Walter had looked well to 
his firearms and his hunting knife. He 
was a stranger to fear and an expert 
horseman, yet he realized that discretion 
is the better part of valor and acted ac- 
cordingly. 

Another embrace, one more kiss, a 
wave of the hand, a momentary silence, 
the sound of the creaking old gate which 
the maiden was closing and the splash of 
the waters of the stream the youth was 


78 


LAUKA LAMAR. 


crossing^, all announced the parting* of the 
betrothed lovers. 

“When will they meet ag*ain?” 
whispered the soft wind. 

“When?” echoed the silent voice of 
the nig*ht. 

******* 

When Laura reached the house, she 
seated herself beside the open fireplace 
and soon became absorbed in deepest 
thoug*ht. She had not told Walter of the 
late adventure with the Indians, nor the 
dark foreboding's that filled her heart 
whenever she thoug-ht of that dreadful, 
mysterious white reneg*ade and the awful 
words he had uttered. Her cup of joy 
had been filled to overflowing* and she felt 
that not one drop of the bitter g*all of sor- 
row should be allowed to profane its 
sacred contents, so she had permitted her 
affianced husband to depart in ig*norance 
of what had happened. 

The distance from the home of the 
sweetheart to that of the lover was more 
than twenty-five miles; and, as the guar- 
dian angels of the night looked down upon 


LAURA LAMAR. 


79 


the children of the earth at the hour of 
midnig-ht, they mig-ht have seen Walter 
Van way approach a farm gate and dis- 
mount, just at the moment that Laura 
Lamar arose and prepared to retire. 

Oh, how beautiful are the blissful in- 
nocence, the inspiring hope and the noble 
aspirations of two young hearts that have 
newly plighted their love to each other 
for life. 


80 


LAURA LAMAR. 


CHAPTER V. 

A SON OF THE EMERALD ISLE. 

It was well for youngf Van way that 
he went home Sunday night, for Monday 
morning found a steady rain-fall which 
increased until about midday, when the 
sun came out, lighting up the dripping 
trees with a lustre that made every 
glistening drop of water that hung to the 
leaves, look like a diamond of the first 
quality studding an elegant profusion of 
emerald dressing gowns. 

About three o’clock in the afternoon, 
a red-faced Irishman came trudging slowly 
up the trail on the farther side of Chest- 
nut Ridge. On his back he carried a 
poor excuse for a peddler’s pack, and in 
his right hand was a stout stick which he 
used, both to assist him in walking and 
to drive away any snake that might 
dispute his right to travel the trails. He 


LAURA LAMAR. 


81 


was evidently in a good humor at this 
time, for, as he plodded along, he was 
singing a song which ran something like 
this: 

“In all av the worreld there’s no place like Erin, 
In the sea or upon all the dhry land; 

The boys are so witty, the gyrls are so pritty. 

In counthry an’ city in Ireland.” 

When he reached the summit of the 
ridge, he stopped and looked about him 
fora while in silent astonishment, dropped 
his pack from his back, then mopped his 
face vigorously with a large, red handker- 
chief. Being afoot, he could see nothing 
ahead of him but an unbroken forest, in 
which the trail seemed to end as it de- 
scended the western slope of the ridge. 
Gazing at the scene before him for a few 
moments, he broke out with an exclama- 
tion of surprise and said: 

“Well, now begorry, I b’lave this 
must be the jumpin’ ofP place or purty 
fur about it somewhere or other. That 
was a divil av a bad hill I jist dim an’ I 
think I’ll be takin’ a little restin’ av 
meself fur a while,” and he sat down on 


82 


LAURA LAMAR. 


the ground with his back against a tree 
and was soon fast asleep. When he 
awoke, the sun was setting and he said to 
himself as he started up: 

“Why, why, I’ve purty nigh slept 
myself into the night. A foine pickle 
I’d a got into if I’d a woke up tomorry 
mornin’ an’ a found I’d been ate up by 
the wolfs last night. ’ Tis all the same 
I ’m a thinkin’, fur I don’t b’lave they’s 
a house in twinty mile av this place. 

“Hullo, what noise was that I heerd? 
Begorry, it was a caf a bawling’. I niver 
heerd anny thing as swate since me 
mother used to sing me to shlape in a pig 
troff. 

“’Tis down at the bottom av that 
hill, an’ a divil av a ways it is I’m a 
thinkin’, fur it don’t sound much louder 
nor the squake av a pinchin’ bug, so I’ll 
be thravellin’ on an’ get me head under 
a roof before the wolfs begin to take their 
supper from the cafs av me legs.” 

Away he trudged along the narrow 
trail and was not long reaching the bank 
of the Two Lick, just at the lower ford, 


LAURA LAMAR. 


83 


but, to his utter amazement, the stream 
was swollen until it could not be crossed. 

“Howly St. Patrick’s birthday in the 
mornin,’ if that crick’s a foot deep ’tis a 
hundred or my name’s not Barney 
O’ Philligan. May the g-ood St. Belze- 
bub save me. Here I’ve walked all the 
way acrost the mountains to be ate up by 
the wolfs an’ the bairs an’ the painters in 
this blasted wilderness.” 

He ran frantically up and down the 
stream attempting- to attract the attention 
of someone in the cabin by his shouts, 
but the noise of the swollen stream 
drowned his voice as effectually as if it 
had been the voice of an infant. 

The darkness drew nearer . and 
nearer and the clouds, which had risen 
late in the afternoon, obscured the fair 
face of the moon as it rose above the 
ridg-e. The sullen waters roared in 
ang-er and the yelp of a wolf warned Bar- 
ney O’Philligan that he must seek safety. 
The proverbial wit of the Irish, which 
has brought many a son of Erin out of a 
close place, did not desert honest old Bar- 


84 


LAURA LAMAR. 


ney in this extremity. When he heard 
the wolf, he rose from the rock upon 
which he was sitting-, and said: 

“Oy, oy, I heerd a snap av the divil’s 
fiddle sthring-, an’ that tells me ’tis time 
fur Barney to beg-in to stir hisself, or 
they will soon be a lot av howlin’, snap- 
pin’ drag-ons dancin’ about his corrups. 
Ah, me hearty, I’ve done a purty g-ood 
job av chatin’ the divil so far an’ I don’t 
think I ’ll let his imps faast on me carcass 
to-nig-ht. I’ll jist climb up this tree an’ 
make me bed in the fork av that big- limb.” 

With some difficulty he ascended the 
tree, drag-ging- his little budget after him. 
This he tied to a stout limb so that it 
would not fall during the night, as it was 
his entire stock in trade, and, to lose it, 
meant for an itinerant merchant to go 
bankrupt. 

This done, he seated himself on a 
limb of the tree, as many a traveler in a 
new country has done before and since, 
and prepared to spend the night as com- 
fortably as the situation would admit. 

He had not been long settled in his 


LAURA LAMAR. 


85 


place, until he heard a yelp followed by 
another and another, and pretty soon half 
a dozen wolves in single file dashed by in 
hot pursuit of his trail. 

On they ran, pell mell, until they 
came to the creek. Here they stopped, 
and, standing abreast with their front 
feet in the running waters, pointed their 
noses toward the opposite bank, then set 
up a hideous noise which was a combina- 
tion of growls, howls and barks, that 
clearly showed their rage and disappoint- 
ment at the loss of the traih 

Presently one of them turned and 
walked up the stream a little way, with 
his nose pointing toward the opposite 
shore. He stood in this attitude for a 
moment, then, with a low whine, turned 
away, apparently giving up the chase. 
As he did so, a flying night beetle struck 
him on the side of the nose. He dropped 
it near the ground and began to rub it 
with his right paw. Suddenly, he gave a 
triumphant yelp and started up the 
stream, followed by the others. The bug 
had put them on Barney’s trail again. 


86 


LAURA LAMAR. 


Back and forth, the ferocious creatures 
ran, just as many times as the peddler 
had walked, then they came to the stone 
where he had set down in dismay. 
Around this they went like mad, then 
dashed away with a rush, and, in a mo- 
ment, reached the tree where he sat 
watching them with amused interest. 

No sooner had they treed him than 
they formed a circle about his castle 
and set up that well know series of 
short, sharp barks, which tells every 
practiced ear that a nocturnal siege 
has begun. Barney felt perfectly secure, 
however, and, as the concert was likely 
to prevent him from sleeping soundly for 
awhile, he thought to pass the time in 
conversation with the unbidden serenad- 
ers, so he addressed them as follows: 

“Hi, yi, ye dirty rascals. This is 
not the first time yez have sent me to a 
room in the upper story. I’ve seen yez 
before, an’ ye got the sore throat thin a 
splittin’ the wind, jist like ye’re a doin’ 
now. Jist go on wid yer yelpin’ an’ I’ll 
be takin’ a little nap av me, fur I’ve a 


LAURA LAMAR. 


87 


long’ road afore me to-morry, I g-ess.” 

At that moment, there was a flutter 
among- the leaves above him and a deep, 
dismal voice said: “Who — wh’ — whoo — 
whoo — whoo — !” 

“Who the divil are you^ thin? I’m 
honest Barney O’Philligan, born in county 
Derry, an’ I wisht to me sowl I was there 
now agin,” said the poor fellow, 
thoroughly frightened. 

“Who — wh ’ — whoo — whoo — whoo — , ’ ’ 
came again, and this time, it seemed a lit- 
tle nearer to the top of Barney’s head. 

“I tould yes who I was. What makes 
yez kape askin’ me right along? Who 
are y(9z^, annyhow? Och, I b ’lave ye’re the 
divil hisself, from the looks av yer eyes 
an’ yer horns.” 

“Who — wh’ — whoo — whoo — whoo — 

“Go way, good misther divil, go way. 
What’s a poor crayture to do wid a 
dozen divils below him an’ he don’t know 
how many above? Let me alone, plase do 
now. I niver harrumed ye in me life. 
I always tried to be on good terms with 
the divil, annyhow. There ’s me pack over 


88 


LAURA LAMAR. 


beyant the tree. Take it an’ g-o away, 
misther divil, that’s a good felley, now.” 

In his eagerness to get away from the 
dreadful creature, whatever it was, Bar- 
ney had unconsciously crept farther and 
farther out on the limb on which he sat, 
when all at once, it broke with a loud 
crash and he fell to the ground in a 
heap. 

The wolves were so completely taken 
by surprise, that they thought the whole 
tree was coming down upon them, and 
they scampered away a few rods into the 
bushes, while the owl flew to safer haunts. 

Barney recovered his senses in a 
moment and said: “As betwixt half a 
dozen divils down here an’ one up there. 
I’ll be goin’ back,” and he scrambled up 
the tree again, just as the wolves came 
yelling back. He was not molested fur- 
ther that night, and when naorning came, 
it found the creek so low that he easily 
crossed it on the stepping stones and was 
soon at the cabin of John Lamar. 

The door was opened by Mrs. Lamar, 
and the moment the Irishman saw her, he 


LAURA LAMAR. 


89 


exclaimed beneath his breath, “Loco;” 
but he mentally resolved to conceal his 
own identity for the present. Upon be- 
ing* invited to enter, he stepped inside, 
dropped his little pack on the floor, asked 
if he might buy a breakfast, and received 
an affirmative answer. 

There w^as something strangely fa- 
miliar about the man to Mrs. Lamar and 
she regarded him with deep interest in 
her eifort to recall his name, but in vain. 
She turned to speak to her husband con- 
cerning the peddler, but he had gone out 
the back way just as the traveler came in 
at the front door. 

During the time the meal was being 
consumed, there were sly glances ex- 
changed, and once or twice, their eyes 
met. Barney was fully convinced that he 
knew the woman and he was also con- 
vinced that she thought she knew him. 
Having finished his meal, he went out and 
sat on the stone door step and began to 
smoke a clay pipe. Laura picked up the 
milk bucket and went away singing in 
her old time manner, as she had been do- 


90 


LAURA LAMAR. 


ing- since the meeting- under the elms. 

Mrs. Lamar beg-an to clear away the 
dishes but found her attention constantly 
drawn to the peddler. She walked back 
and forth past the open door and twice he 
saw her stop and look earnestly at him. 
Finally, he knocked the ashes out of his 
pipe, came into the house and beg-an to 
open his bundle, saying- pleasantly: 

“Landlady, whin ye git yer work 
done, I ’d like to be after showin’ ye some 
foine Irish linen table cloths me mother 
made fur me jist before I started acrosst 
to this haythenish counthry.’’ 

For a moment, Mrs. Lamar looked at 
him in profound silence, then said, with a 
half smile: 

“I don’t believe you have seen Ire- 
land in fifty years.” 

“Oy, oy, madam, shure I was born in 
county Derry whin I was very young, an’ 
me mother — ” 

“Took you to kiss the Blarney stone 
when you were three days old.” 

“Now, ye ’re a makin’ a fool av a poor 
wanderin’ orfunt, what’s a trying to make 


LAURA LAMAR. 


91 


an honest livin’ in a counthry where the 
red divils are thicker’n the snakes an’ 
frogs was in Ireland before good St. 
Patrick druv them inlo the sea. Upon 
the honor av me sowl I ’m not shure that 
I ever saw the Blarney stone but I heerd 
me mother kissed it onct whin she was a 
young girrul.” 

“And that’s what makes you such a 
blarney,” said she. 

J‘Shure, me lady, I wouldn’t tell ye 
annything but the truth fur all the world. 
As certain as me name is Barney O’- 
Philligan I—” 

“Is that your name?” 

“That’s the name me mother said 
was mine, an’ by the good St. Belzebub — ” 
“Ah, I know your name now. You 
are not Barney O’Philligan at all. You 
are honest Pat Murphy who used to be 
the coachman for William Monroe, who 
lived on the lower Susquehanna — ” 

“Now there ye go off agin’ Howly 
St. Patrick’s birthday in the mornin’ but 
I b’lave I’m in a counthry where nine 
tinths av the paaple is bloody handed 


92 


LAURA LAMAR. 


savages an’ the other half is ayther loony- 
tix er crazy. What makes ye think I ’m 
Pat Murphy?” 

“Because nobody but Pat Murphy 
ever made a saint of Beelzebub. Let me 
tell you something that will convince you 
that I know who you are.” 

“Av coorse ye know who I am fur I 
tould ye me name’s Barney O’Philligan 
born in — ” 

“Once upon a time you saved William 
Monroe’s daughter from being drowned.” 

“Murphy did, you maen,” said he. 

“That little daughter took a gold 
ring from her finger the next day and put 
a blue ribbon through it, then tied it 
around your neck.” 

“Around Murphy’s neck,” said he. 

“You gave that little daughter a fine 
linen table cloth which your mother sent 
you as a present from Ireland.” 

“Murphy did.” 

“You said to her: ‘Now me little 
lady, if ye raaly think enuff av the ould 
mon to remimber ’im, jist work me name 
in one corner av that table cloth, an’ the 


LAURA LAMAR. 


93 


first time I come to see ye after ye air 
married, I ’d like if ye’d put that cloth on 
the table.’ The little gfirl worked the 
name, and this morning she put that cloth 
on the table, because she thought she 
knew you, and you ate your breakfast 
from it, and there is your name in the 
corner,” she pointed triumphantly to the 
name neatly worked in the table cloth 
with green silk thread.” 

Por several moments he looked at 
the delicate needle work, and which he 
had not seen for years, while his eyes 
glistened, as an unbidden tear struggled 
to the surface of each. Mrs. Lamar fully 
expected him to acknowledge that he was 
Murphy, but he only said in a low voice: 

“That’s Murphy ye’re talkin’ about, 
an’ a foine mon he must a been. Good 
luck to the ship that brought ’im acrosst.’’ 

“You still deny you are Murphy? 

“I tould ye me name onct.” 

“Listen. The little girl whose life 
you saved, had a pet name which you 
gave her. She worked that name in the 
corner of a handkerchief, which she gave 


94 


LAURA LAMAR. 


to you and you placed it in your inside 
pocket, declaring* that you would always 
carry it near your heart. A few minutes 
ago, after you opened your pack, you 
drew from an inside pocket, the spec- 
tacles you now have on, and, without 
knowing it, you also drew out a little 
’kerchief, which fell to the floor. Here it 
is, and there is that old pet name.” 

She held it up before the astonished 
peddler, and there in one corner, worked 
with green silk thread also, was the word 
“Loco.” 

The old man hastily drew from about 
his neck, a faded bine ribbon to which 
was attached a little gold band much 
worn from long wearing. Holding the 
ring, the ’kerchief and the corner of the 
tablecloth In one hand, he placed the 
other upon the head of Mrs. Lamar, and, 
with tears running down his cheeks, said: 

“Yes, yes, little Loco, this is the 
ould mon hisself. I knowed ye the 
minnet I set eyes on ye. I wanted to see 
if ye’d remimber yer ould frind afther 
these many years. I thought ye was 


LAURA LAMAR. 


95 


dead an’ in heaven g’ood an’ safe, an’ I 
niver expected to see ye ag-in. Ye’re 
the same little darlint to me ye was whin 
ye used to run the reddin’ comb throug-h 
me thick, bushy hair fur an hour afther 
I tuck ye a ridin’ on me shoulders. But 
tell me, baby,” and he stroked her hair 
as if she were a child. “What air yez 
doin’ in this wilderness?” 

“I have come this far from the home 
of my childhood, in my efforts to escape 
the persecutions of Henry Anson.” 

“Well, I reckon ye’re safe from him 
out here to the very inds av the the urth.” 

“No, indeed,” said she, shuddering* 
with fear. Then she told him all that 
had happened during* the years she had 
been moving* from place to place in her 
efforts to evade Anson, including* the 
incidents with which these pag*es have 
already made the reader familiar. When 
she ceased talking*, he stamped his foot 
vehemently and said: 

“Nabocklish avick aroo! There’s not 
a furnace in all the infernal rag*ions that 
is hot enuff fur him. The murtherin’ 


96 


LAURA LAMAR. 


blackguard. Don’t I know him like a 
book? He has done enuff durty thricks 
to kape him in purgatory a thousand 
years. Wasn’t I hidin’ in the bushes 
the night he shtole his own father’s 
horses an’ took them off, the pyrut; an’ 
didn’t I hear yer brother a pladin’ wid 
’im to come back an’ b’have ’imself; an’ 
didn’t I see ’im stick that knife into the 
poor boy, an’ say, ‘there, now, ye med- 
dlin’ cuss, I guess ye won’t bother no- 
body else soon;’ an’ didn’t I see that red 
divil av a Snaakin’ Pox, er whativer his 
name is, av a Indian run past yer father’s 
barn down tords the river wid the little 
gyrrul he shtole fur Anson from Anson’s 
own sister? An’ the scamp pirsecutes 
little Loco yet. But where is he now?” 

“I believe he is in the mountains 
somewhere.” 

“Then I’ll go peddlin’ in the moun- 
tain’s, begorry.” 

“No, you must not do that, Pat.” 

“An’ why not, me darlint?” 

“Because you know so much about 
him he would murder you in a moment.” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


97 


“He don’t know as how that I know 
annything- about ’im an’ I can niver 
rest ashlape in me grave as long- as that 
kidnapper is alive.” 

“Here comes my baby,” said Mrs. 
Lamar, as Laura approached, carrying- a 
bucket of milk. “Her name is Laura, 
too. Laura, this old man was your 
g-randfather Monroe’s coachman, and he 
has accidentally found us while travelling- 
over the country as a peddler. Here is 
her father, also. John, this is our old 
friend, Pat Murphy.” 

The g-reeting-s which followed were 
profuse and sincere. Old time recollec- 
tions were recounted, much to the 
interest of Laura. Murphy was all wit 
and jollity, and complimented Lamar and 
his wife often on the fine looks of their 
daug-hter and concluded with: “But I 
don’t see where she g-its her beauty. 
She don’t look a mite like ayther av yez. ” 
At this, he, Lamar and Laura all laug-hed 
heartily, but the mother only smiled a 
little. 

By much persuasion, Murphy was 


98 


LAURA LAMAR. 


induced to remain until the next day, but 
he could not be turned from his set pur- 
pose of going- on the trail of Henry 
Anson. “I’ll show the black-hearted 
villain,” said he, “that somebody else 
will go campin’ on trails.” 

When he started away, John bade 
him goodby at the house, and Mrs. Lamar 
walked a little farther with him, while 
Laura went ahead to the gate. Presently 
the mother extended her hand and said: 
“Goodby, Pat. Remember, I may need 
you worse now than I did when I was a 
little one.” 

“That’s right, me darlint, that’s 
right. I’ll sthick to ye tighter nor a 
beggar louse in October, an’ if we can 
git John Lamar to stiffen up his back 
bone a little, I b’lave we will come out all 
right. John was always a good felley, 
but a little timid fer a new counthry. 
“He’s good to yez, ain’t he, darlint?” 

“No man could be better.” 

“That’s foine, that’s foine. Well, 
goodby. Loco, put your trust in God an’ 
he’ll kape yez safe,” and he left her 
weeping bitterly. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


99 


At the ^ate, he extended his hand to 
Laura, but she said, playfully, “I am 
g-oing- to the creek with you.” 

“All rig-ht, me baby, come along*.” 
When they had reached the stream, 
Laura took the roug-h hand of the honest 
hearted Irishman in hers and pressed it 
w'armly as she said anxiously: 

“Mr. Murphy, you know all about 
my mother’s early life. Can you tell me 
anything* about my owm?” 

“ Why, bless the child, I’m sorry I 
don’t know as much about ye as I do 
about yer mother, but — ” 

“lam sure,” interrupted the g'irl, 
“that there is a deep mystery surround- 
ing* my life and the lives of my parents. 
Sometime, when I see you again, will you 
tell me of our history?” and she pressed 
her lips to his old red hand: 

“Sometime, baby, sometime, but I 
must be goin’; goodby,” and he crossed 
the stream on the stepping stones and 
was soon out of sight. 


LofC. 


100 


LAURA LAMAR. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE VALLEY AND THE SHADOW. 

It was not an uncommon thing* for 
the early pioneers of this country, to live 
many miles from any place where the 
necessary supplies for the family were to 
be had. These supplies were few in 
number, it is true, yet, the hardy yeoman 
of the time thought it no heavy task to 
travel long distances in order to secure 
them. 

On the morning the Irish peddler 
crossed the Two Lick and started up 
Yellow Creek on the fast fading trail of 
the outlaws heretofore mentioned, John 
Lamar threw a bag of shelled corn across 
the back of the sturdy family horse, and 
started for the mill, which was fully 
forty miles away. He was a man of 
peaceful intent and reflective mind; so 
much so, that he had been called “a day 


LAURA LAMAR. 


101 


dreamer,” which appellation was not at 
all foreign to his nature and his tastes. 
He was one of those creatures who be- 
lieve that what is to be will be, and that 
no human agency can prevent it, hence, 
he was no match for either the wily, 
persistent Indians nor the apparently 
totally depraved Anson, who for some 
unaccountable reason, seemed intent upon 
bringing evil to himself and his household. 

He crossed the Two Lick, waved an 
adieu to his wife and Laura, then turned 
to the right on a half hidden trail that 
led down the stream and was soon lost to 
the sight of his loved ones. He rode 
slowly along and mused as follows: 

“Man is powerless to shape his own 
destiny. He is an infant in the clutches 
of the giant Pate, and to struggle is but 
to waste his dwarfish energies and to 
render him weaker still. There goes a 
log floating down the stream. It moves 
peacefully along on the smooth surface of 
the water. It is borne wherever the 
water will and it is powerless to choose 
its own co.urse and follow it. Now it is 


102 


LAURA LAMAR. 


thrust into a clump of briers along the 
bank. They tear its sides; next, it is 
whirled around and dashed against a huge 
rock in the middle of the current with a 
force that almost breaks it in two; now 
it is knocked about among the stones in 
the bed of the stream in a manner most 
merciless, and, again it floats out into the 
calm, smooth water. The analogy is 
clear. It is perfect. The water is the 
stream of life and the log is a human 
creature. 

“My soul is much distressed about 
the conduct of Henry Anson, and I would 
fain set myself and mine free from his 
persecutions, but if it is to be it will be, 
and no effort of mine can prevent it. 
Mother seems to believe that some dread- 
ful calamity is to befall us, and Haura, 
poor child, has been constantly pleading 
with me here of late to tell her something 
about our early history. I would to God 
I could do so, but I can not. She, too, is 
a child of destiny and must abide by its 
decrees, whether they be gentle or stern. 

“It may be that some unexpected 


LAURA LAMAR. 


103 


sorrow is to visit my home. God forbid 
that it should come, but, if come it must, 
I pray that he may impart to me the 
fortitude to bear my affliction as becomes 
a humble believer in the wisdom of the 
unknown and unknowable Infinite.” 

On Saturday morning, Laura saddled 
Blackbird and told her mother she would 
canter across the ridge to the home of 
the nearest neighbor, which was distant 
only a step of five miles, and that she 
would return by noon. The mother re- 
quested her not to remain away late, as 
she felt very lonely. 

The noon hour arrived, but Laura 
did not. One o’clock, two o’clock, three 
o’clock, but still no Laura came. Her 
mother was becoming alarmed for the 
safety of the girl. She walked down to 
the capstone where she could see her 
if she appeared at the top of the ridge, 
and where she could also see her husband 
come up the creek. She gazed intently, 
first in one direction and then in another, 
in the hope of seeing those she loved best, 
but their familiar forms did not appear. 


104 


LAURA LAMAR. 


Becoming tired, she seated herself 
upon the rock, and just as she did so, a 
human head appeared above the brow of 
the hill behind her. The figure advanced 
cautiously to the cabin window and 
peered in. An expression of disappoint- 
ment rested upon the copper-colored 
countenance, as it turned away. The 
creature crouched low and moved about 
with a tread as noiseless as that of a cat, 
while he carefully scanned the surround- 
ings. Suddenly his eyes fell upon the 
silent figure. He dropped to the ground 
and muttered with a fiendish chuckle: 

“Rattlesnake, the bird that was in 
the bush is now in your hands. Escape 
for her is impossible. To attempt to 
pass me is to fall into my open arms, and 
to leap from that rock to the stream be- 
low is certain death. Cast your net, and 
the partridge flutters helplessly at your 
feet.’* 

He began to steal noiselessly toward 
the prize he had so much coveted and had 
so long pursued. No panther ever crept 
with more silent tread toward its prey, 


LAURA LAMAR. 


105 


than did this human panther creep toward 
the unsuspecting* woman. His whole 
body trembled with the insanity of his 
villainous desire. The muscles of his 
face twitched and contorted in such rapid 
succession as to g*ive his countenance the 
hideous expression of a demon which is 
overwhelmed with a feeling* of exultation 
in its infernal anticipations of ag*es of 
supreme pleasure tormenting* the soul of 
a fallen saint. His eyes fairly started 
from their sockets, as, inch by inch, he 
approached the quiet fig*ure. He paused, 
rose to his feet, and folding* his arms 
across his breast, gave a long, low whistle. 

Mrs. Lamar turned at once, and, full 
in the path that led to the cabin, stood 
the man who had been the ever present 
evil spirit of her later life — Henry Anson. 

Rising to his fullest height, he said: 
“At last Loco, at last.” 

For a moment she stood as dumb as 
a statue. She opened her mouth but not 
a sound escaped her lips. She moved 
her tongue but not a word did she utter. 
She attempted to raise her hand but it 


106 


LAURA LAMAR. 


remained paralyzed at her side. Such a 
degree of absolute terror is seldom seen. 
The trees began to move, the rocks to 
roll and the stream to reverse the course 
of its going. She knew that it meant 
another attack of unconsciousness, such 
as she had undergone heretofore, every 
time she felt the presence of this evil 
creature near her. But she knew more. 
She knew that if she fell in a faint this 
time, she would awake the captive of the 
man of all men she most despised. 

By an almost super-human effort she 
threw off the dreadful feeling, and, step- 
ping to the very apex of the capstone, 
she looked the intruder full in the eye, 
and said: 

“Henry Anson, why are you here?” 

“And so you recognize me, do you?” 

“I would to God I could say I do not.” 

“Since you know me, you know my 
mission.” 

“Yes, I know you. But I can not 
imagine why you should follow me, like a 
trailing bloodhound, all these years, and 
why, at last, you should steal up to my 


LAURA LAMAR. 


107 


home, like a prowling- wolf, when I am 
alone.” 

‘‘Loco — ” he beg-an. 

“Please call me Mrs. Lamar.” 

“Mrs. Lamar!” he exclaimed with a 
sneer. “No, I will never call you Mrs. 
Lamar. I will call you Loco, the sweetest 
name ever possessed by woman. Loco, 
the name you loved so well when we were 
children tog-ether, playing- along* the banks 
of the lower Susquehanna. Loco, the 
name you loved to hear best on that warm 
summer nig-ht when you placed your 
hands in mine, as we stood by the river, 
and you promised to be my bride. Loco, 
the name which has supported me throug-h 
all my wandering-s in search of my old 
time sweetheart. Loco, the name alone 
by which you are known, now that I have 
found you, and the name that alone shall 
be yours during- the happy years that we 
will spend tog-ether. Loco, I am here 
because I love you.” 

“Stop, Henry Anson, stop. You 
forg-et that I am the wife of another.” 

“No, you are not the wife of another. 


108 


LAURA LAMAR. 


You g-ave me your heart many years ago. 
I hold it yet and shall continue to hold it 
until death. By the troth you plighted 
when you were heart-whole and fancy- 
free you are mine and mine only.” 

She noted the determined look in his 
eyes and resolved to parley with him as 
long as possible, believing that at any 
moment Baura or Lamar would return 
and rescue her. After a pause, she said: 

“Yes, I well remember the happy 
days of childhood, that I spent beside the 
dear old river — ” 

“Oh, that we could call them back,” 
said he. 

“I well remember,” she continued 
without heeding him, “that the farms of 
William Monroe and James Anson lay 
side by side and that the beautiful river 
ran along the front of each. 

“I remember that in each family 
there were two sons and two daughters. 
These children were almost constant 
playmates. They went to school, to 
church, boating and riding together, and 
a happier quartette of little ones, I sup- 
pose, never lived.” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


109 


“That was long*, long* ag*o,” said he. 

“That was long*, long* ag*o,” she re- 
peated slowly. “Yes, yes, I remember 
very well indeed that an Irishman lived 
with my father. I wonder what ever 
became of him?” and she eagerly awaited 
his answer. 

“I have not seen him for years,” said 
Anson, in a tone that told her he spoke 
the truth. 

“ I remember also, that as the four 
children of these families approached the 
years of maturity, there sprang up among 
them a double attachment, the nature of 
which, the child-mind never knew. 

“I remember that I pledged my love, 
an honest, pure, sincere love, to the son 
of my father’s neighbor, and — please 
remain where you are, Mr. Anson, I have 
not yet done,” said she, suddenly chang- 
ing her tone and manner as he took a step 
forward. 

“How foolish I am not to clasp her 
in my arms at once,” he muttered, “but 
I will humor her dreamy whim, as I be- 
lieve when she recalls the happy days of 


110 


LAURA LAMAR. 


long’ ag-o, she will abandon Lamar and gfo 
with me.” Then he said aloud, “I beg" 
your pardon, go on.” 

“I remember, too,” she resumed, 
“that the son of my father’s friend 
pledged to me a pure heart, an honorable 
life, a character unsullied by deceitful 
word and a hand unstained by disgraceful 
deed.” 

“ Woman, do you insinuate — ?” 

'“I insinuate nothing. I remember 
also, that my only brother and the only 
sister of my fiance plighted the self-same 
troth and kept it until death.” 

Anson was becoming agitated. He 
stamped his foot, and his painted brow 
grew darker as he said fiercely: 

“I care for no more of this. Come, 
my time is precious. Five miles from 
here, my band aw'aits me. We must be 
going, come,” and he took a few steps 
toward her. 

“Stop right there, Henry Anson, 
and wait until I have finished.” 

“Well, be quick about it. I am not 
the person to accept the dictations of the 


LAURA LAMAR. 


Ill 


woman who has broken her vows to me.” 

“I remember,” she went on, “that 
a time was set for a double wedding-, 
which was to unite in the holy bonds of 
wedlock, the children of these two fami- 
lies. The hand of providence was placed 
upon me and I was stricken with fever, 
but my brother and the sister of my 
fiance were happily married. 

“I recovered slowly. A year went 
by and I was my old time self again. 
My lover, however, was not so arduous in 
his attention as he had been. He pleaded 
a pressure of business matters, as many 
another man has done under similar 
circumstances, and I, as many another 
woman has also done, believed him.” 

“I could not be with you always.” 

“Suddenly he disappeared,” she 
went on as if meditating. 

“Who disappeared?” 

“My lover disappeared.” 

“Why don’t you say I disappeared?” 

“Well, then, you disappeared, and 
when I heard of you six months later, you 
were secretly aiding a band of smugglers 
who came up from the bay.” 


112 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“It is false. Who told you that?” 

“One who hears none of your curses.” 

“But I say it is false.” 

“I would to God it were; for I loved 
you as only a true woman can love, and 
when I heard it, I would not believe it, 
but wrote to you to come to me, as I was 
heart broken.” 

“Did I not answer you?” 

“Yes, and such an answer. It read 
in part: ‘I will come to you by and by. 
Broken hearts, like torn garments, are 
easily mended.’ 

“I loved you yet, poor, blind, deluded 
creature that I was, and I would not give 
you up, even when I knew you had chosen 
such a life. After that, you joined a 
gang of river pirates — ” 

“Woman, that is a lie and you shall 
die with it on your lips.” He raised his 
rifle as if to fire, but the woman cooly 
said: “Put that down, you might hurt 
someone.” 

Lowering the gun in surprise he said: 
“Why are you so cool in the presence of 
such danger?” 

“Because death by the bullet in that 


LAURA LAMAR. 


113 


rifle would be more to my taste than such 
a life as you offer me. Besides that, only 
a coward would brandish such weapons 
in the face of a helpless woman.” 

He drew his knife from his belt with 
a jerk, and threw it and the rifle over the 
precipice into the stream below. “Go 
on,” said he “you are at my mercy, how- 
ever your fairy tale ends.” 

“Yes,” she repeated, “you joined a 
g’ang’ of river pirates and one dark nig-ht 
you stole six horses from your own 
father’s barn. When my brother Prank, 
your sister’s husband, followed you to 
the river’s bank and pleaded with you to 
gfive up such a life, when he told you it 
was killing* your parents and mine, and 
when he declared to you that he would 
keep the secret of your life from the 
world, even from me, what was your 
answer? A knife went to his heart and 
the blood spurted over your rig*ht hand. 
The stain is there now, hidden only by 
the paint that covers it,” and she pointed 
her fing*er toward his rig*ht hand which he 
attempted to conceal. 


114 


LAURA LAMAR. 


He became furious and said: 

“Curse the moment I threw that 
rifle away. If I had it now I would soon 
end this matter. But I will end it any- 
how. You shall gfo with me and you shall 
go nozv;'^ and he rushed toward her. 

Suddenly he stopped; for, quick as a 
flash, Mrs. Lamar had drawn the dagger 
from the folds of her clothing and stood 
pointing it directly toward her own heart. 

“ Advance another step, Henry 
Anson, and this matter will be settled 
right quickly.” 

“What? Would you take your own 
life?” 

“The glittering steel shall restzvzl/im 
my heart before the head of Henry Anson 
shall rest above it.” 

“I believe you would defy all the 
demons of Inferno, but my admiration 
for you increases with your spirit of 
defiance.” 

“Listen, Henry Anson, my fairy 
tale, as you are pleased to call it, will 
soon be finished, and when I have done, 
you will be at liberty to go your way.” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


115 


“Go my way, that’s cool, I must 
confess.” 

“After the murder of my brother,” 
she continued, “your hands were almost 
constantly dripping- with blood. You 
gathered about you a band of desparadoes, 
Indian and white, chief among them being 
the outlawed friendly Indian, Jumping 
Pox, who so nearly lost his scalp at the 
edge of a tomahawk thrown by a white 
man pursuing him, after he murdered 
the women and children left in his care 
while the settlers up the river drove off a 
hostile band of savages. Your crimes 
are written in the book of fate by the 
score. You have been a pirate, a brig- 
and, a murderer, a thief — ” 

“Stop that, or I’ll send this stone 
through your skull,” said Anson. 

“Yet, your crowning infamies I now 
hurl into your teeth and defy your dark- 
est vengeance. You sent two Indians to 
kidnap and take me on board your pirati- 
cal craft, but worse, a thousand times 
worse than this, 

'’'‘You stole your sister' s baby when she 


116 


LAURA LAMAR. 


vjas hut two years old^ and sold her to Eag'le 
Eye, the Sag-ainore of the Hurons for a 
thousand beaver skins, Jumfing" Fox being 
your henchman, ’ ’ 

Without a word, Anson threw the 
stone at her with all his mig'ht. She made 
a quick motion to dod^e it, and stepped 
off the side of the capstone, nearest the 
creek. As she did so, she threw out her 
hand and — unconsciously opened it, when 
the dag-g-er fell over the precipice and 
rang* as it struck rock after rock until 
it reached the bed of the creek. 

Anson now became the soul of sar- 
casm and said: “Really, my lady should 
be more careful where she steps. May I 
not have the pleasure of assisting- you 
back to your former position?” and he 
started toward her. 

For answer, she caug-ht the limb of 
a bush in her hand, and, placing* her foot 
on a ledge of rock that jutted out over 
the stream, swung back and forth above 
the yawning chasm, and said: 

“It is written that man shall have 
dominion over every living creature, 


LAURA LAMAR. 


117 


which, I suppose, means woman also, 
therefore, allow me to sug-gest that you 
come and take your prize.” 

“My God, woman, are you crazy? 
Don’t you know that if that slender twig 
were to break, your brains would be 
dashed out upon the rocks or you would 
be drowned in the stream at the base of 
the cliff?” 

“Better death a thousand times on 
the ragged edges of the rocks or in the 
bosom of the stream than life in the arms 
of Henry Anson,” she replied. 

He turned and walked to where she 
first saw him, and she resumed her seat. 
Again and again she cast her eyes, first 
toward one trail then the other. Anson 
noticed this and said: 

“You seem to be expecting some one.” 

“My husband and daughter will soon 
be here, and then you will pay dearly for 
your conduct,” she answered. 

“They are late, are they not?” 

“They may appear at any moment.” 

“You expect the daughter to come 
over the ridge, do you not?” 


118 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“Yes.” 

“And the husband to come up the 
creek?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, madam, I will inform you 
that neither of them will be here, for 
they are my prisoners and are now on 
their way to my camp.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, she 
cried out: “You are a lying- villain.” 

“Please don’t lose your temper 
until I state the facts to you. I have but 
one purpose in life and that is to possess 
you as my wife. For this purpose I have 
followed you, no matter where you have 
g-one, nor how long- the journey, until I 
have overtaken you. This I warned you 
I would do, when I called you to your 
father’s g-arden g-ate on the evening- you 
wedded John Lamar. You scorned my 
pleadings then, I return the compliment 
now. Ah, see there!” 

He pointed across the stream. Mrs. 
Lamar turned her eyes that way and saw 
Blackbird come dashing out from among 
the bushes, with flying reins but bearing 


LAURA LAMAR. 


119 


no rider. The pet steed ran down to the 
edg-e of the water at the ford, then 
stopped suddenly, looked toward the trail 
that ran down the creek, and neig'hed 
loudly. At once an answer of its kind 
was heard and a little later the old family 
horse slowly approached bearing- neither 
rider nor meal sack. The two then 
crossed the stream, went to the g-ate and 
stood neighing- for those they had learned 
to know best. 

No further argument was needed to 
convince Mrs. Lamar that what Anson 
said was true, and her heart sank within 
her. Life was now to her but the black- 
ness of darkness and she half wished she 
had not dodged the stone hurled by 
Anson, or that the twig of the bush had 
broken off as she swung in mid-air. 

Noticing her demeanor, Anson said: 

“Will you go with me now?” 

Slowly she raised her head and, rest- 
ing her face in her hand, she answered: 

“Henry Anson, the echoes of the dy- 
ing groans of your father and mother 
come over the Alleghenies in the mournful 


120 


LAURA LAMAR. 


wails of the night-winds that creep 
through the mountain passes. You are 
their assassin. Back of my old home- 
stead, among the broken-limbed trees of 
the orchard, are two white marble slabs, 
silent reminders of the untimely death of 
my father and mother. You are their 
assassin.” 

Anson seemed riveted to the rock 
on which he stood. His whole frame 
trembled as though he were standing at 
the judgment bar of Jehovah. The wo- 
man held him with the power of her 
steady gaze, so firmly that he mentally 
compared her to the snake while he was 
becoming the victim. 

But she went on: 

“Over there, on the bank of the old 
river,” and she pointed away to the south- 
east, “sits a trusting young girl, waiting, 
waiting. Come and sit by her side. 
Hark! What noise is that? There! Did 
you hear that body fall? Catch that faint 
groan. That is the voice of my dying 
brother. See the woman approach him. 
Now she falls upon her knees at his side. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


121 


She places her ear to his heart — all is still. 

“See, she rises. What a blood curd- 
ling- scream! Do you hear it? Indeed 
vou do and it sounds to you like the yells 
of all the demons in the infernal regions.” 

“Sorceress, witch, she-devil, fiend 
incarnate; I will no longer submit to 
this,” he cried. 

“Let us tarry amid the old scenes 
but a moment longer,” she replied. 
“The stricken woman is your sister. 
She buries her husband and goes to his 
g*rave every evening to weep. Mark you, 
Anson, what we see. The twilight deep- 
ens as she sits by the grave holding on 
her lap a little child, her last and only 
comfort in life. Darkness approaches. 
She starts home. The little one walks 
by her side. It stops to pluck a flower 
w^hile the mother walks on reflectively. 
See there, Anson, see there! Do you 
notice that dusky figure behind them? It 
approaches with the stealth of a fox. It 
is an Indian. My God ! he has caught the 
babe, and, placing his hand over its 
mouth, disappears. 


122 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“The mother turns but the babe is 
nowhere to be seen, and her screams 
pierce the heart of the nig’ht as your knife 
pierced the heart of her husband. ‘My 
baby! Oh, where is my baby!’ she cries. 
See, she is running* directly toward 
the river. She is wild. Can nothing* save 
her? Nothing*. She rushes over the 
cliff and her body is picked up from the 
rocks below. 

“On the same bank overlooking* the 
broad bosom of the sweet old Susquehanna 
are two g*raves, side by side. There 
sleep your sister and my brother, whose 
deaths are charg*ed ag*ainst you on the 
record of high heaven. The cheerful joy- 
song of the river is changed to a funeral 
dirge as it passes that point. You are 
their assassin and the kidnaper of their 
child. 

“Henry Anson, my fairy tale is done. 
Go! and remember, the hand of a woman 
can crush the venomous head of even a 
Rattlesnake, such as you choose to style 
yourself. Go! I say, or I hurl myself 
from this rock instantly.” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


123 


“Hold! hold!” he cried. “A dead 
woman is not what I want. Listen to my 
parting words. Today my braves capt- 
ured your husband and daughter. The 
former I shall kill.” 

“But would you add another murder 
to the long list already against you? ” she 
replied in dismay. 

“ I would kill John Lamar as freely 
as I would kill a snake. He is a coward. 
He is not worthy to live, much less to be 
the husband of a woman of your spirit.” 

“But the child? ” 

“The body of a captive belongs to the 
captor to use as he desires. I will keep 
the lamb, for when the mother hears its 
cry, she will come to it,” and, turning on 
his heel, he strode up the hill and past 
the cabin. 

She followed him until she reached 
the house, then stopped and gazed at his 
retreating figure. Suddenly he turned 
and said: “I will send for you to-night.” 

Por answer, she called in a tone that 
could not be mistaken: 

'"1 will camj) on your trail till deaths 


124 


LAURA LAMAR. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE CHASTENING ROD. 

When Mrs. Lamar entered her cabin 
home, she sank upon a plain chair at hand 
and burst into a flood of tears. For the 
moment, she felt that life was a miserable 
failure and that death were a welcome 
g*uest. At the next instant, she was her- 
self again, and rising to her fullest 
stature, she said in a terrible tone: “No, 
Henry Anson, I will not die until you 
have paid the penalty for your misdeeds. 
I, too, from this moment, have a mission 
in life and I shall never be contented un- 
til that mission is fulfilled.” 

She rolled together some household 
effects, which she loaded on the two 
horses, and was soon across the stream 
on her way to the nearest settlement. 
Going up the creek to a point opposite 


LAURA LAMAR. 


125 


the cliff, she saw Anson’s rifle and knife 
in shallow water, and soon had them in 
her possession. A little further down 
stream, she saw the dag-ger and secured 
it also. She arrived at the home of the 
nearest neighbor, just as the sun was 
going down, only to learn that Laura had 
left there before noon. 

She related her story, and would 
have led the settlers on the trail of Anson 
that night, but she was suddenly stricken 
with a pain in the head that rendered her 
unconscious until after midnight. 

The next morning her friends urged 
her to remain with them, assuring her 
that the men would pursue the culprits. 
To this she only answered: “Collect your 
party, then come to me.” 

When this was done, what was their 
surprise when she came out of the house 
wearing a belt in which was Anson’s 
knife and carrying his rifle on her 
shoulder. She leaped into the saddle 
when Blackbird was brought and said 
sternly: 

“Follow me.” 


126 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“Are you ^oin^ with us?” said one. 

“ I certainly am.” 

“You will surely be killed.” 

“ What is to be will be, come on.” 

The company followed her in silence. 
When they reached the crest of Chest- 
nut Rido-e, they looked toward the Lamar 
homestead and saw nothing- but a burning 
mass of ruins. 

“Ah,” said Mrs. Lamar. “I ex- 
pected it. They came for me but I was 
not there, so they have destroyed my 
home.” 

They rode down the slope, and 
crossed the creek and were soon on the 
spot where the pioneer home was fast 
turning to ashes in the angry embraces 
of the dying flames. 

True to his threat, Anson sent Jump- 
ing Pox and Raccoon to capture Mrs. 
Lamar that night, but not finding her, 
they set fire to the house, drove away all 
the stock, and shot the dog in the hind leg. 
When they returned, Anson was waiting 
for them and a cloud appeared upon his 
brow when he saw not the woman, 
though he scarce expected her. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


127 


“Where is the squaw?’’ he demanded. 

“The nig’ht-bird flew away when she 
heard Jumping- Pox come. He could hear 
her wing-s flutter among- the bushes across 
the river.’’ 

“The Jumping- Pox has lost his cun- 
ning-,” said Anson. 

“As the Rattlesnake has lost his 
charms,” replied the savag-e. 

“The Jumping- Pox can catch a dove 
in the nest when it is too young- to fly, 
but he permits the old bird to escape.” 

“Yes,” answered the Indian in most 
cutting- tones. “Jumping- Pox once stole 
a little bird from the nest of her mother 
for the Rattlesnake, who sold her to the 
Hurons for a thousand beaver skins. She 
die among- Indians, I g-uess. To-day 
Jumping- Pox catch a pretty little white 
bird to be his squaw, but the Rattlesnake 
g-ive his g-un and knife to the sweetheart 
of his youth, and tell her to fly away, I 
g-uess,” and he laug-hed loudly. 

“I command you to go and g-et that 
woman, and not to return without her.” 

“Jumping- Pox take her and tie her 


128 


LAURA LAMAR. 


to a tree, sometime, then Rattlesnake 
may capture her, but Jumping* Pox now 
go to his tepee and see his white squaw,” 
the Indian replied. 

“She is not there,” said Anson. 

“Where is she?” asked the savage, 
drawing his knife. 

“She is in my wigwam,” answered 
Rattlesnake, as he leveled a rifle at the 
breast of the Red Man. 

“Rattlesnake steal her from me.” 

“No, she went to my wigwam of her 
own accord. I have not seen her.” 

“But she is mine.” 

“Not yet.” 

“When?” 

“When we capture her mother.” 

“Ugh! Then Jumping Pox take 
white squaw for Rattlesnake now,” and 
he turned as if to go back in search of 
Mrs. Lamar. 

“Wait awhile. You wonder where 
my gun and knife are. I threw them 
into the river.” 

“And why?” 

“They had an Evil Spirit. They 
would not kill the white squaw.” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


129 


“Then Rattlesnake never g-et her and 
Jumping Pox never get his pretty, young, 
white squaw,” said the latter, after a 
long pause. 

“Oh yes, he will,” said Anson, 
uneasily. “We must keep the cub safe 
from harm for a little while and the old 
she-bear will follow it, then we can easily 
take her.” 

“Raccoon wants the scalp of the pale- 
face,” said the other Indian. 

“Raccoon must be patient,” said 
Rattlesnake. “If we kill the pale-face 
now, the maiden will die of grief and we 
will never get her mother.” 

“Ugh!” said Jumping Pox, “Raccoon 
wait,” and the other lapsed into silence. 

“Jumping Pox,” said Rattlesnake,. 
“We must leave here to-night.” 

“Where we go?” asked the other. 

“We will go to the land of the Set- 
ting Sun, until the white squaw shall 
grow tired following her little one, when 
we will take her and she shall be mine 
forever.” 

“Then Jumping Pox get his pretty, 
young squaw, sure,” said the other. 


130 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“The panther will pick my bones 
before you do, ” said Anson to himself. 
“When the moon reaches the first branch 
•of that hemlock, we will g'o,’’ he said 
aloud as he entered a wigwam adjoining 
his own. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


131 


CHAPTER VIII. 

NO ROSE WITHOUT A THORN. 

When Anson was alone, he walked 
back and forth across the wig*wam in 
silence for a short time, then broke out 
in a low tone and said: 

“Well, well, the task I so earnestly 
hoped would have been done by this time, 
I fear is scarce begun. I knew that 
woman had a spirit of her own, but I did 
not dream she could outwit me; yet here 
I am, routed, horse, foot and dragoon. 
I walk boldly up to my prey wdth the 
assurance of a lion and come back like a 
sneaking cur. I advance to the fray 
armed like a knight and return leaning 
on the stafp of a beggar, while my lady 
hurls a sentence of death into my re- 
treating ear. Gods! I am half afraid 
she will carry out her threat. She seems 


132 


LAURA LAMAR. 


to have a charmed life. I wonder how 
she learned so much about my past life. 

“Ah! I have it. John Lamar has 
told her, in order to win her away from 
me. John Lamar! The mewling-, pur- 
ring, sanctimonious saint. His carcass 
would vomit the hungriest wolf an Scalp 
Level. What right has he to a woman of 
such splendid parts as she is? I see but 
one way out of this dilemma, and that is 
to decoy her into the wilderness of the 
west so far that she can never escape me, 
then capture her. 

“I think, however, that I will become 
acquainted with the gentle maiden w^ho 
possesses so much of the spirit of her 
mother. Heavens, but she’s a beauty, 
although she does not resemble either 
her mother or the slimy eel who claims to 
be her father. She is the very picture of 
— of — , but that could not possibly be. 
Oh, no, that is out of the question.” 

Going down to a little stream that 
ran by the camp, he applied some kind of 
juices to his face, after which, he easily 
washed off the brown coloring he used for 


LAURA LAMAR. 


133 


a disg-uise. This done, he walked to the 
wig’wam where the captives were, g-uarded 
by Lizard, and entered, without cere- 
mony. Laura was sitting* on the g'round 
at the farther side holding* her father’s 
head and did not observe his entrance. 
He carried the rifle that had been cap- 
tured with her, and which he had drawn 
on the Indian a little earlier in the eve- 
ning*. For a moment his heart softened 
and he whispered: “How I wish she were 
my daug*hter and it were my hair her soft 
hands were smothing* back.” The flame 
flickered only for a moment, then, like a 
match in a hurricane, was exting*uished. 
Addressing* the Indian g*uard, he said: 

“She is a dutiful daughter.” 

These words had the desired effect, 
for, in an instant, Laura ceased stroking 
the old man’s hair and looked up. The 
father rose to a sitting posture. Anson 
did not so much as notice Lamar but 
fastened a dangerous look upon the girl 
and went on, as if talking to the savage: 

“And so we have trapped the nest- 
ling at last, and a beautiful bird she is. 


134 


LARUA LAMAR. 


Not a partridg-e in all the wood is more 
plump, not a red bird is more beautiful, 
and not a lark is a sweeter sing*er. She 
is a most desirable addition to our com- 
pany and will, no doubt, elevate us all to 
her own exalted station.” 

” She be Jumping* Pox’s squaw,” said 
the guard.” 

Laura felt her blood run cold. 

“Silence, Lizard,” said Anson, “un- 
til I order you to speak. Listen to what 
I say. Your duty is to guard that girl 
from all harm and to do with her as I 
command you. Go to your tepee and 
wait until I call you.” 

The savage walked silently out of the 
tent. When he was g’one, Anson turned 
toward Laura and found her standing 
with eyes opened to their fullest wide- 
ness, and gazing with some hidden inter- 
est directly into his face, while John La- 
mar sat with his head bowed to his bended 
knees, his long gray hair falling about 
his face in such a manner as to present 
' him a picture of despair. 

It would have been difficult to define 


LAURA LAMAR. 


135 


the meaning* of the look which the g*irl 
fastened upon her captor, and more diffi- 
cult to describe its elfect upon him. She 
seemed overwhelmed with a feeling* of 
combined wonder, sympathy, disdain and 
veneration. Ang*er and fear were both 
absent from her. She spoke not a word, 
but her eyes never left his countenance. 
He withstood her look for a time, then be- 
came restless and walked back and forth 
across the tepee, muttering: 

“By heavens, I am confounded. It 
can not be, and yet I seem to see it 
in every feature she possesses. It is 
impossible; still, there is a silent voice 
wffiich tells me it is true. I never saw a 
woman whose look I could not meet 
calmly, until I faced this girl and her 
mother. They possess some hidden 
power which makes a child, a squaw, a 
coward of me. I, who boast of having 
shed more blood than any other white 
man that ever lived, stand' here, a mum- 
bling pappoose in the presence of a frail 
woman. I will not harbor the thought 
for a moment. I will be myself, assert 


136 


LAURA LAMAR. 


my authority and claim my own, whatever 
may be the result.” 

He had wrought himself into a fury, 
and, with it, returned his waning courage. 
He strode up to where Laura was. and, 
standing directly in front of her, de- 
manded roughly: 

“Girl, who are you?” 

Quick as a flash came the answer, and 
that, too, without a tremor of the voice: 

“And who are you?''' 

“Did anyone ever see such impu- 
dence,” said Anson under his breath, 
then aloud: “Woman, you know not with 
whom you trifle. It is mine to command 
and yours to obey.” 

“If I am to be a servant and hand- 
maiden, I presume it no wrong for me to 
learn the name of my master,” she an- 
swered meekly but bravely. 

“Ah, I didn’t think of that,” he re- 
turned with mock politeness. “Your re- 
quest shall be gY*anted. My name is^ Rat- 
tlesnake, and I am the chief of a band of 
Roving Red Rangers, to whom the air is 
as free as it is to the eagle.” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


137 


“A band of freebooters?” she asked. 

“Well, now, that word is not exactly 
to my taste but let it go at that. We are 
a band of men, bound together by the ties 
of common interest;” and he laughed a 
little. 

“The common interest of outlaws?” 
she again asked in a simple hearted 
manner. 

“Really, you possess not a little of 
the diplomacy of your mother, but, see- 
ing you are wholly at my mercy, I am in- 
clined to humor you. Answering your 
question, we are a band of free-lances 
who go wherever and whenever we will.” 

“ Wherever you will? ” 

“Wherever we will.” 

“Your zvill does not often lead you 
among civilized white people, does it?” 

“What do you mean?” he asked, 
flushing., 

“Nothing improper, I am sure. You 
seemed willing to gratify my desire to 
know who you are and now you become 
nettled at my innocent inquiries.” 

“I told you who lam, that is enough.” 


138 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“You have not told me the name 
^iven you by your father and mother, 
have you?” 

“What you know of my father and 
mother?” 

“Nothing, I am sorry to say.” 

“Do you know what name they gave 
me?” 

“I do.” 

“What was it?” 

“Henry Anson.” 

“Who told you this?” 

“My mother?” 

“Who is your mother?” 

“The wife of John Lamar.” 

“John Lamar! Bah! What else did 
she tell you about me?” 

“She told me you are an outlaw.” 

“What else?” 

“Nothing else, I regret to say. I 
tried to persuade her to tell me more, 
about you but she would not.” 

“Ha, ha, say, girl. I’ll tell you 
something you don’t know. What would 
you say if I should tell you that your 
mother was once a sweetheart of mine?” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


139 


“I should say, if that be true, that 
you were a different man then from what 
you are now, or she was a poor, deluded 
and basely deceived girl.” 

“Ha, ha, ha, and what would you say 
if I should tell you that I am your father?” 

“/ should say you are an infamous 
liarf she almost screamed, as she shook 
her little fist before his face. 

“And you would be telling the whole 
truth,” said Lamar, in a half protesting 
tone. 

“Shut up, you dog,” said Anson, 
angrily addressing him. If you were 
not so contemptible, in my sight, I would 
kill you in an instant.” 

Turning to Laura, his manner 
changed as he said: “No, child, I am 
not your father. I only wish I were. 
There is something about you that draws 
me very near to you. I can not tell you 
what it is, unless it be the fact that you 
are the daughter of the only woman I 
ever loved, and whom I have sworn I will 
capture and wed before I die.” 

“Is that why you spoke those awful 


140 


LAURA LAMAR. 


words to me on the day your savages 
almost decoyed me into your trap?” 

“Exactly so. I have been camping 
on her trail ever since she married John 
Lamar and I shall continue to do so until 
she is mine.” 

“And what do you want with me?” 

“The track of the fawn will lead the 
doe anywhere,” he answered. 

“Then the panther will keep the 
lamb until he captures its mother?” said 
she. 

“You have the thought.” 

“And if the mother is never caught?” 

“He will never release the lamb.” 

“And what of my father?” 

“I will attend to his case in due time.” 

“Will you kill him?” 

“Not yet.” 

“When?” 

“Not yet.” 

“When you have captured my 
mother?” 

“Hold your tongue, you talk too 
much.” 

“Henry Anson — ” she began after 
a slight pause. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


141 


“Please call me Rattlesnake.” 

“Henry Anson, I believe there is a 
mystery connected with the early life of 
my parents and myself. I believe this 
mystery involves you in some way. My 
mother utterly detests you, but there is 
something- about you that awakens the 
sympathy of my heart. I do not know 
you, but I do know that you bear a 
strange resemblance to the picture of one 
of the dearest girl friends of my mother’s 
youth.” 

“What was her name” asked Anson 
nervously. 

“I never learned her name. It was 
one of the secrets of my mother’s heart, 
but here is the picture. Do you know it?” 

She thrust her hand into her bosom, 
and, drawing forth an old faded tintype, 
stepped to his side and held it directly in 
front of him. 

In an instant, his eyes flashed fire 
and his face was livid - with rage. He 
snatched the little memento from her 
hand, dashed it to the ground, and, with 
the hob-nailed heel of his boot, crushed 


142 


LAURA LAMAR. 


out the last vestige of a resemblance to 
the sister he had so cruelly wronged, 
years before. He raised his foot again 
to stamp the picture into the earth, when 
Laura seized it, just as his heel came 
down and bruised her hand so horribly 
as to cause her to cry out with pain. 
Seeing this, John Lamar rushed at 
Anson, who, with one blow, sent him 
tumbling back to where he came from, 
then turned and left the wigwam, after 
calling the guard with the caw of a crow. 

As Lizard came back through the 
darkness, he encountered Jumping Pox 
at the rear of the wigwam of the captives, 
where he had been watching and the 
latter whispered lowly into his ear: 

“Jumping Pox steal white squaw. 
Lizard keep still.” 

“Tonight?” asked the other. 

“Not to-night, but soon,” and he 
was gone. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


143 


CHAPTER IX 

NO RIFT IN THE CLOUDS. 

When the moon had reached the 
heig-ht designated, the little party began 
its long, weary march through the un- 
broken wilderness. Anson gallantly as- 
sisted Laura to mount a seedy looking 
pony, and apologized because he could 
not offer her her own pet. Blackbird. 
She was not bound in any manner, but 
Anson rode in silence on one side of her 
and Jumping Fox on the other, while 
John Lamar was turned over to Raccoon 
and Lizard, with instructions to brain 
him if he attempted to escape. They 
crossed the many now beautiful ridges 
which form the foothills of the western 
slope of the Alleghenies, but which were 
then enshrouded in a tangled mass of 
trees, bushes and briers. 


144 


LAURA LAMAR. 


Through day and night, this gloomy 
cavalcade kept on its weary way, and 
halted but once each day for food and a 
short rest. At last, they reached the 
banks of the Allegheny River. Here, the 
party found two canoes which they had 
used on former occasions, and had 
secreted. In these, Anson and Jumping 
Pox placed the captives and took them 
across the stream, while Raccoon and 
Lizard swam the horses over. 

Having landed, Anson seemed to have 
no fear of their being overtaken, for he 
led the party up a ravine toward the 
north-west a few miles, then halted and 
ordered the tepees erected on a little 
elevation just off the trail a short distance 
and behind a dense growth of shrubbery 
around which it was necessary to pass in 
order to reach the place. 

The journey had been a long and 
wearisome one for the captives, and 
when they were shown the wigwam as- 
signed to them, they entered it, threw 
themselves upon the ground and were 
soon fast asleep. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


145 


The flight had been rapid, as the 
band was small, and their leader well 
knew he would now be pursued by one in 
whose heart the fire of vengeance burned 
with a brilliant glow; therefore he had 
observed every artifice known to the 
savage of the time in order to conceal 
his trail and throw his pursuers off it 
entirely. 

Whenever a stream was reached, 
they rode in its bed upward or downward 
for some distance, then Lizard and Rac- 
coon were sent off to break the bushes on 
a false trail, after which they returned 
to their companions. Where it was pos- 
sible, they rode over the flat stones that 
lay in their pathway, in order to make 
their chosen route more difficult of dis- 
covery, and often the very leaves which 
they rumpled up with their feet and those 
of the horses, were replaced in a manner 
so deft as to deceive any but the most 
experienced observer. 

Having established his camp, An- 
son decided to remain there a few 
days, and ascertain whether he was pur- 


146 


LAURA LAMAR. 


sued, and, if so, by how strong* a force. 

******* 

When the pursuing* party, headed by 
Mrs. Lamar, reached the ruins of her 
home, a counsel was held, at which it was 
decided to follow the outlaws. Every 
effort was made to induce her to return 
to the settlement but all to no purpose. 
Her one answer was: “I have a mission 
in life to fulfill and must be about it.” 

The pursuit was slower than the 
flig-ht, as the pursuers were often thrown 
off the trail and much time was consumed 
in regaining* it. Finally, they reached 
the Allegheny River, and here the hope 
of the entire company, except Mrs. 
Lamar, of overtaking the outlaws, van- 
ished. They were now much farther in 
the wilderness than they had ever been 
before, and the instinct of self-preserva- 
tion began to assert itself quite strongly. 
Moreover, the trail disappeared at the 
water’s edge, and reason taught them 
that the retreating band had crossed the 
river. Not being familiar with the 
stream, they felt that to attempt to cross 


LAURA LAMAR. 


147 


it would be little short of folly, since the 
fate of their families depended upon their 
safe return. 

This conclusion was reached during* 
a consultation in the absence of Mrs. La- 
mar, at the close of which, she was in- 
formed in the most pleasant manner, of 
the decision, and was urg*ed to rest her- 
self for a time, when they would all re- 
turn tog-ether. When she heard this, 
she shook hands with them, thanked them 
for their kindness and bade them farewell. 

“What!” said the leader of the 
party, “are you not g'oing to return with 
us?” 

“Can the eag-le fly away to a place of 
safety, while she hears the cries of her 
nestling* that is being* torn to pieces by 
the wildcat?” 

“V7hy, woman, what can you do to 
release your husband and daug*hter from 
the clutches of this fierce renegade?” 

“I know not. I shall know later on. ” 

“You will only be captured by the 
man you say you have successfully evaded 
all these years.” 


148 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“No, he shall never take me alive. 
On the contrary, I believe I shall fulfill 
my mission to its completeness.’ 

“What is your mission?’’ 

“To kill Henry Anson and rescue my 
husband and daughter, and on this I am 
determined.” 

“Poor woman! How I pity you. 
May God help you to succeed.” 

“God helps those who help them- 
selves,” was her cool reply. 

Turning aside and speaking to an- 
other, the leader said: “If John Lamar 
had more of that spirit, things might be 
different with this family now.” 

Extending his hand to her, he said: 

“I can not help admiring your cour- 
age, but I doubt your judgment. I am 
confident this man heads a large force of 
Indians and that you will fall into his 
hands only to see your husband shot or 
sold as a slave. Our best wishes are 
with you, though we feel that when we 
leave you this time, we wfill never see you 
again.” 

“ It may be true. God only knows. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


149 


yet, the heart strings which bind my 
loved ones to me would snap asunder were 
I to take a step backward. There is but 
one thing for me to do and that is to pur- 
sue my chosen way until the end.” 

Mounting their horses, the men, with 
one voice, tried again to persuade her to 
return wdth them, but finding all their 
efforts unavailing, they waved her a 
friendly adieu and turned sorrowfully to 
the trail that led them back to their 
homes, and, as they fastened their last 
look upon the heroic woman, many a 
rough hand brushed away the watery 
crystals that dimmed their eyes. 

She stood like a statue with her eyes 
upon the retreating figures, until the last 
one had passed out of sight behind a 
clump of bushes at the crest of a low 
ridge. For some time, she was as one 
fixed to the earth. Her look was riveted 
to the great, green bank of forest leaves 
before her. What her thoughts were, 
no one knew. How long she would have 
remained in such a position, could hardly 
be conjectured, had not the loud neigh of 


150 


LAURA LAMAR. 


Blackbird roused her from her reverie. 
Going- up to the horse, she patted him on 
the neck and said: 

“Well, well, my darling* is restless 
and lonely. Indeed you have reason to 
be so. I know another heart that is 
lonely too, and that is g-rowing- more and 
more so, since the departure of those 
whom you so vainly call. You and I are 
truly alone in the world, so we must love 
each other the more dearly until we find 
those with whom we are so eag-er to share 
our affections. 

“But, Blackbird, you should not call 
so loudly or you will inform our enemies 
of our presence, and that must not hap- 
pen, since we shall have to accomplish by 
strateg-y what we can not accomplish by 
force.” 

However, Blackbird failed to see the 
point, for he continued to neig-h in a most 
distressing- manner for the horses that 
had taken the returning- trail, and as long 
as they could hear him, their answers 
came back throug-h the foliage of the 
forest in ever decreasing clearness, until 
at last, they died away entirely. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


151 


The lonely woman felt that unless 
she could quiet the horse there would 
be g-reat dang-er of her being- discovered, 
and, for a full hour, she talked to, pleaded 
with, and petted the animal; finally, it 
ceased calling- and began to eat the lux- 
uriant growth of wild grass at its feet. 

Night came on, and, after tying the 
horse, Mrs. Lamar sought refuge in a 
friendly hollow tree near at hand. The en- 
trance to this rude lodging place, she closed 
by leaning a chunk of wood against it. So 
completely exhausted was she, that she 
fell asleep at once and did not awake until 
a gleam of sunshine crept through a 
crevice between the side of the entrance 
and the log that closed it, and told her it 
was time to be stirring. She removed 
the log and crept out. The first thing 
she thought of was her horse, and, 
hastening to where she had left him, to 
her utter dismay, he was gone. Only a 
piece of the rope with which he was tied, 
was left, and the fringed end told her 
that he had chewed it in two during the 
night. Pursuit was useless. What could 


152 


LAURA LAMAR. 


she do? She could do what any other 
woman could have done under the same 
circumstances. She could sit down and 
have a g’ood cry, and she did. 

When her cry was over, she discov- 
ered she was desperately hung-ry. She 
sought the little buckskin pouch, in which 
she had placed some dried venison and 
corn bread, and found that her stock of 
provisions was still safe. Her weapons 
of offense and defense, she had taken into 
the hollow tree with her, and these were 
also safe. When she had ascertained 
this, she ate a hearty breakfast, quenched 
her thirst at a nearby spring, and felt 
better. Then she began to search for a 
place of temporary safety, until she could 
collect her thoughts and determine what 
to do next. She had decided to swim 
Blackbird across the river, after her 
companions left her, and let the future 
take care of itself, but this was now out 
of the question. The instinct of self- 
preservation which had overtaken her 
friends, now asserted itself quite strongly 
in her, hence her search for a place of 
shelter and protection. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


153 


While she was walking* along* on the 
river bank, she stopped and peered 
througfh an opening* in the bushes, that 
admitted a view of the stream for some 
distance, when, to her surprise, she saw 
an Indian emerg*e from the tang*led fol- 
iag-e, and, without the least hesitancy, 
run down to the water’s edg*e, half drag*- 
g*ing* a young* g*irl, whom she at once 
recog*nized as Laura. Across the g^irl’s 
mouth and around her wrists were ban- 
dag*es to keep her from screaming* or 
escaping*, thoug*h she strug*g*led very hard 
to free herself from his g*rasp. It was 
Jumping* Pox, attempting* to escape with 
her. He cut one canoe loose, and then 
almost threw the g*irl into the other, and, 
leaping* in himself, pulled vig*orously down 
stream and toward the opposite shore. 
If he should cross, he would land within 
easy rang*e of the rifle Mrs. Lamar held 
and which she had rescued from the 
stream after Anson had thrown it over 
the cliff. A second look convinced her 
that he did not intend to land, but was 
headed down the middle of the river. 


154 


DARUA LAMAR. 


A moment later, the bushes at the 
mouth of the ravine parted, and Anson 
and Raccoon appeared. At sig-ht of the 
fleeing* savag*e, they uttered a wild yell of 
triumph, which was quickly changed to 
rage, when they saw the other boat drift- 
ing rapidly away. Anson raised his 
rifle to fire but the cunning Indian was 
too quick for him, and, seizing the girl, 
held her between himself and the angry 
muzzle of the outlaws’s gun, and shouted: 

“Rattlesnake go back and get old 
pale-face. Jumping Pox take his pretty 
squaw to Chillicothe.” 

Anson did not reply. He rushed his 
horse down the stream with all possible 
speed, holding his rifle to his shoulder, in 
order to get a sure aim at the savage. 

It was useless, for the Indian shifted 
the struggling form of the girl around so 
as to keep it just where he wanted it. 
Anson now raved with excitement and 
anger. He was not aware of the fact that 
a female figure was cautiously dodging 
from bush to bush, trying to get a little 
nearer the water’s edge, unseen. She 


LAURA LAMAR. 


155 


halted. A new dang’er appeared. She 
could shoot the Indian from where she 
now crouched, but if she should do so, 
Laura, with her hands tied and mouth 
bandaged, would certainly fall into the 
stream and be drowned. Another terror 
confronted her. If she should fire, Anson 
would at once discover her wherabouts 
and capture her. 

The white renegade and his savage 
follower tore up and down among the 
bushes like madmen. Jumping Pox 
shouted taunts of defiance at them. The 
girl fought for her liberty. The boat 
drifted down, down the river. It was 
now at a point where the hidden woman 
could kill the Indian without injuring her 
daughter. The struggle in her breast 
was but for a moment. The mother in- 
stinct prevailed. She raised her rifle 
and fired, just as Anson and his follower 
darted behind a clump of bushes, in their 
efforts to go farther down the river. The 
Indian threw up his hands and fell dead 
into the water, while Laura dropped 
apparently lifeless to the bottom of the 


156 


LAURA LAMAR. 


boat. She had seen the face of .her 
mother, just as the latter fired, and, as 
she thought of her certain capture by 
Anson, it was too much and she fainted. 

At that moment, Anson emerg*ed 
from the bushes, but so gfreat was his 
excitement that he did not notice the 
fast vanishing" curls of smoke that crept 
swiftly back among the bushes as if 
to conceal their origin. The woman 
crouched a little lower, then began 
at once to reload her rifle, as she rea- 
soned that she could now shoot Anson. 
Her disappointment knew no bounds 
when she found she had left her bullet 
pouch back where she had camped the night 
before, fully half a mile away, and she 
was compelled to see him swim his horse 
to the middle of the stream, seize the 
boat and draw it, with its still unconscious 
occupant, to the further shore and dis- 
appear with her behind the bushes at the 
mouth of the ravine. Anson believed the 
rifle of Jumping Pox had been acciden- 
tally discharged, killing him instantly, 
and Laura asserted as much. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


157 


With a heavier heart, if possible, the 
lonely woman retraced her steps to the 
spring*, and there in the wet sand, she 
saw a very peculiar track, evidently made 
by an animal strange to her. She was 
somewhat alarmed when she heard a 
rustle among the leaves behind her, but, 
upon turning around, her fears vanished, 
for she saw the old family dog wagging 
his tail and hobbling along on three feet. 

“You poor, old creature,” she said, 
as she laid her arm about his neck. “How 
has it happened that the wolves have not 
eaten 3^ou up? My friends are all gone 
but you, and I see you are not all here. 
Only three fourths of your running gears. 
Somebody has shot off one leg. Better a 
three-legged dog than no companion at 
all. But come, Brindle, it looks like rain. 
We must search for shelter.” 

The brute seemed to understand her^ 
for he started off. Without knowing 
why, she followed, and he had gone only 
a short distance when he came to the 
mouth of a clean, dry cave, to which the 
scanty effects of the two were removed, 


158 


LAURA LAMAR. 


and not a moment too soon, for, just as 
they entered it, the thunders roared 
among- the hills and valleys and the rain 

descended in torrents. 

****** * 

About the same time of the same day, 
Walter Van way, soaking- with the rain, 
reached the old familiar crest of Chest- 
nut Rid^e and stood spell-bound, g-azing 
at the ruins beyond the creek. He had 
but lately heard of the sad fate which had 
befallen his chosen sweetheart and had 
hastened to her relief. He paused but a 
moment, then rode down the slope, swam 
his horse across the lower ford and went 
up to where the cabin of John Lamar had 
stood. Everything was gone. No, not 
everything*. There stood the twin elms 
erect and unharmed. The one on the 
right was himself and the one on the left 
w^as Laura. Inanimate types of two lives 
that, he declared, should never be separ- 
ated. He stepped upon the old capstone 
to get a better view of the interlocking 
arms of the trees. At that moment, a 
flash of lightning appeared which blinded 


LAURA LAMAR. 


159 


him, instantly followed by a clap of 
thunder that deafened him, and, before 
he could recover his senses, he found 
himself almost buried beneath the 
boughs, branches, twig’s and leaves of 
the tree that stood on the left, while the 
other was badly injured. 

Extricating himself as quickly as 
possible, he hurriedly left the place, 
mounted his horse, and said: “Not even 
the fury of the universe shall separate 
us,” then started home to take his final 
leave of his parents and friends before 
setting out to search for the captive girl. 


160 


LAURA LAMAR. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE FURY OF A WOMAN SCORNED. 

The rain fell in a steady pour for 
several days. The river continued to 
rise for some time, and went down so 
slowly that it was a month before it was 
back in its banks. Even then, the con- 
dition of Mrs. Eamar was no better, for 
she had no means of crossing* it. One 
morning*, she shouldered her rifle, and, 
followed by the three-leg*ged dog*, she 
went hunting* down the stream. The dog* 
soon started a rabbit, which soug*ht shelter 
in what appeared to be a pile of log*s, limbs 
and leaves on the bank of the river, but 
which, upon further investig*ation, proved 
to be the upturned canoe that Jumping* 
Pox had cut loose in his efforts to escape 
with Laura. She lost no time in g*etting* 
it out from under the brushwood and into 


LAURA LAMAR. 


161 


the river, where she fastened it, went 
back to the cave, g-athered up her meag-er 
effects, then returned and placed them in 
the boat. 

Securing a long pole, she stepped 
into the rickety craft and shoved it out 
into the stream, intending to cross it, 
and seek Anson’s trail. The current was 
too strong, however, and took her down 
with a speed that made her dizzy. 

On, on, she went, nobody knows how 
far, and just as night w^as coming on, she 
saw an island ahead of her. As she 
neared it, she discovered that it separated 
the stream, the portion going to the right 
being much the narrower and less swift. 
Into this she guided the canoe and, with 
the greatest difficulty, directed its course 
in such a manner that it passed near some 
bushes, when she at once grasped an 
overhanging bough and swung herself to 
the bank, while the boat and its contents 
drifted on down the stream. The dog, 
seeing the situation, leaped into the water 
and swam to the shore, then came run- 
ning back to her and shook himself so 


162 


LAURA LAMAR. 


vig'orously as to send a shower all over 
her. 

The only earthly possessions left her 
were the three-legged dog, the little 
steel dagger and the curl she had clipped 
from Laura’s head. She did not seem, 
just at that time, to be a dangerous factor 
camping on anybody’s trail. 

She was so thoroughly exhausted and 
careless of what became of her, that she 
sank to the ground in a clump of willows 
and closed her eyes in sleep, just as 
darkness o’er-spread the earth. 

When she awoke, the sun was up, 
and there sat the dog before her; beside 
him lay the carcass of a rabbit which he 
had just caught for their breakfast. 

“Well, well, Brindle,” said she, “you 
are a noble scion of your race. But how 
can we cook it? Let us see if we can 
find a flint. Yes, here is one, and now 
for some dry leaves and twigs. But how 
will we strike a fire from the flint? Ahl 
I have it. Here’s the dagger. Now we 
will have a fire soon. See that spark, 
Brindle, that fell among the leaves when 


LAURA LAMAR. 


163 


I struck the flint with the da^g-er? 
There, it has caug-ht among* them and the 
blaze starts up. 

“Yes, yes, we are a long* way from 
the dead-house, Brindle. You just hold 
the hind leg*s of the rabbit in your teeth 
and I will dress it. A pretty good job, 
I must say. See it sizzle alld stew and 
sputter over the fire. Here’s a piece, 
old friend, help yourself. It is a little 
flat without any salt, but it beats none. 

“There, that does very well. Now 
for a home. Come along, come along. 
Why, what’s that I see? A hovel, I de- 
clare. Let us go to it. Here we are and 
it is deserted. We will just take up our 
abode in it for the present. No, no, I do 
not care for that Indian trail over there. 
I have made up my mind to color my face 
and hands and turn witch. The Indians 
never kill witches — that is — ah — the right 
kind of witches. 

“Come in, Brindle, come in. It is 
not such a bad place after all. Over 
there is a corner for you and here is one 
for me, and the floor being of earth, is 


164 


LAURA LAMAR. 


just to our taste; we can cook our meals 
rig-ht here, and the smoke — well, it can 
find its way out between the logs. We 
are hidden away safely, I am thinking, 
and here we will abide in peace and fare 
sumptuously every day.” 

Having delivered this speech to her 
dog, she took formal possession of her 

latest acquisition. 

******* 

“Did ye ever go into an Irishman’s shanty? 

’Tis there where ye ’ll find yer good whiskey in 
plinty. 

His nice little shtool an’ a table to match, 

An’ th’ door av th’ shanty is locked wid a latch. ” 

This, Mrs. Lamar heard about a 
week later, as she sat one warm evening, 
at the door of the hovel. 

‘ ‘ Boo — woo — woo, ’ ’ went old Br indie. 
“Hush, Brindle, I know that voice 
and it sounds like the voice of an angel to 
me. Its owner is a friend who has never 
failed me,” said his mistress. 

“The divil fly away wid the roof av 
yer jacket, now,” came from the trail at 
the foot of the hill. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


165 


‘ ‘ Boo-»-woo — woo — . ’ ’ 

“Be^orry, I b’lave I’ve heerd that 
shape-killer before but I’d g*ive me 
granny’s nightcap if I could tell jist whin 
an’ where. Who the divil are yez, anny 
way?” 

For answer there fell on the ears of 
the astonished Irishman the low, plaintive 
cry of a whip-poor-will. 

“Loco, begorry,” said he, and was 
soon at her side. 

“What in the name av the howly 
Saint Belzebub are ye doin’ here, me 
darlint?” said he excitedly. 

With a tremulous voice, she narrated 
all that had happened since she saw him 
last, and concluded: “but you didn’t find 
Anson in the mountains, did you?” 

“No, but I found ’im out av ’em.” 

“Where?” 

“Up among the gulches, the divil 
blow ’im.” 

“How long ago?” 

“About three wakes.” 

“Did he know you?” 

“To be sure he did.’ 


166 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“ What did he say to you?” 

“Well, it was this way. I didn’t 
find ’im in the mountains an’ I shtruck 
out for the Senekys because I always 
drive some barg-ins wid ’em, an’ what 
should I do one night about dark, but run 
right into the camp av Anson, the divil 
ride ’im. Soon as he saw me he said: 
‘ Who the divil are you, now? ’” 

“‘An’ who the good Saint Belzebub 
are you, thin?’ says I.” 

“‘Ah, I know you now. You’re Pat 
Murphy. I ’m Henry Anson. I suppose 
you have heerd av me,’ says he.” 

“ ‘I b’lave 1 have, but I can’t tell jist 
where, me mem’ry’s so short,’ says I.” 

‘“ What are ye snaakin’ around here 
fur?’ says he, lookin’ bad.” 

“Thin I thought it was time to be a 
lookin’ afther Barney, and I said, jist as 
aisy: 

“‘Ever since I was turned out av 
house an’ home to starve, by ould Bill 
Monroe, I’ve been peddlin’ fur a livin’.” 

“ ‘ How did he happen to turn ye out?’ 
says he.” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


167 


“ ‘He wint an’ died, the rascal,’ says 
I. Thin he laffed an’ asked me: ‘Do ye 
know anny thing- about that girrul av 
his’n that was named Lorry?’” 

“‘The divil a bit,’ says I, an’ I don’t 
niver want to see nor hear av her, 
ayther.* ” 

“‘Why not,’ says he.” 

“ ‘She was intirely too shtuck-uppish 
fur a poor divil av an Irishman loike me, 
an’ I hate *er,’ says I, but it was an awful 
big lie. Loco, I tould ’im whin I said it.” 

“‘Well, thin,’ says he, *I want ye 
to help me git her alive an’ if ye’ll do it, 
I’ll give you a thousand baaver skins. 
Shure, I knew he was a lyin’ fur he 
didn’t have a single baaver skin, unless 
he’d shtale it, but, says I: 

“‘I’ll take her alive meself,’ an’ 
that’s what I’m here fur, now. I’ll take 
ye alive, but not to hhn, fer a minit. If 
I do, it will be whin the crows have 
scratched all the hair out av me bald 
head.” 

“But what of Laura?” asked the 
mother. 


168 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“She’s all rig-ht, but a little unaisy 
wid her livin’. I talked wid her a g-ood 
dale an’ pretmded she vias the young 
wife av Anson.” 

“And John?” 

“Bless me sowl, he’s doin’ well, I 
reckon. He says whatever is to be 
trottin’ around here will git along by an’ 
by, an’ they aint no use to worry; an’ 
bless yer sowl he aint a worryin’ a bit 
more nor a snale.” 

“How does Anson treat him?” 

“He don’t trate ’m at all. He niver 
looks at ’im. He says he’s goin’ to kape 
’im till he gits you an’ thin he’ll git away 
wid ’im. He tried to swap ’im off to some 
Senekys an’ they offered to give a dead 
horse fur ’im, but they wanted to buy 
Lorry at anny price.” 

“But how do you happen to be going 
up the river?” 

“I wint down to The Port to fill up 
me pack a little, an’ I was on me way up 
and was goin’ to cross an’ go after ye.” 

“Where is Anson now?” 

“He is on his way to the Great 


LAURA LAMAR. 


169 


Council av all the haythen savages in the 
counthry. It is to be at Sandoosky on 
the lake. There, he’s goin’ to thry to 
git rid av the ould mon an’ go away to the 
west somewhere. He tould me he was 
goin’ to thry to git in wid the Winnonys. 
They have a childish ould chief by the 
name av‘ Blow Aisy,’ or somethin’ else, 
an’ Anson wants to git a sthand in wid 
im. 

“My God! I shall never see my 
loved ones again. Why did not the ra- 
ging river swallow me up, for my last hope 
is gone,” said she in great agony. 

“Now that’s jist where ye’re mis- 
taken, me little one. I know the whole 
counthry from here to Sandoosky an’ if 
ye’ll go wid me, I ’ll take ye to a place 
where ye’ll be safe from ’im an’ on his 
track too.” 

“Let us go at once,” said she. 

“Let us wait till mornin’ fur I’m as 
tired as a shlave under Paryo. Oy, oy. 
Loco, I almost forgot meself . Did Lorry 
have a lover?” 

“Yes, why do you ask?” 


170 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“Too bad, too bad.” 

“Why do you ask,” she repeated 
anxiously. 

“Too bad, too bad.” 

“Come Pat, please don’t keep me in 
suspense. What has happened to him?” 

“What was his name?” 

“Walter Van way.” 

“Yes, that’s the chap Lorry tould me 
about. The poor felley wint to where 
yer house was burned an’ started back 
home to git ready to follow Anson, but he 
got off the trail in the night an’ whin 
mornin’ came, he found hisself at the 
camp av a lot av murtherin’ red divils 
that he thought was friendlys, an’ they’s 
got ’im now.” 

“How do you know this?” 

“I was peddlin’ in their camp yister- 
day an’ seen ’im an’ he tould me his name 
an’ that from what he could hear, the 
band was headed for Chilly Cothy, way 
down on the Ohio.” 

“Poor Laura, her heart will surely 
break when she hears of it.” 

“But she mustn’t hear av it yit. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


171 


The first thing* is to g*it rid av Anson. 
I tould the young* mon to kape his back- 
bone as stiff as a crowbar an’ we’d land 
Anson yit. But come, baby, g*it the 
ould mon a bite to ate an’ he’ll turn in, 
fur we’ve a long* road afore us.” 

Mrs. Lamar soon cooked her g*uest 
a rabbit for his supper, as this was all 
she could offer him, but her heart was 
glad when she saw him draw from his 
pack, two large “corn dodgers,” one of 
which he gave to her. 

The meal was eaten in silence, and, 
at its conclusion, the old man said: 
“Good night, baby, be up airly in the 
mornin’,” then he made his bed at the 
roots of a tree and the woman went into 
the cabin. 

******* 

It was a long, wearisome journey, 
indeed, that they undertook, but they 
reached the designated place after a 
time and Mrs. Lamar took up her abode 
in the family of an old trader. 

The time for the meeting of the 
Indian clans arrived, and, with it, there 


172 


LAURA LAMAR. 


came to the great village of Sandusky, 
anybody and everybody who cared to 
attend. It was indeed a motley crowd, 
composed of every grade and variety of 
human nature which at this time, roamed 
the wilderness in the central portion of 
the new world. Indians, high and low, 
intelligent and ignorant, friendly and 
warlike, clean and dirty, were there. 
"White men, some trappers, some hunters, 
and some renegades who had turned 
against their own people, prominent 
among the latter being Henry Anson. 
There were also large numbers of traders 
of all classes and conditions, including 
Pat Murphy, with his little pack. He 
had hurried to the scene to watch Anson, 
as soon as he had Mrs. Lamar safely 
concealed. 

At this meeting, a general traffic of 
barter and sale in furs, horses, colored 
fabrics, and, especially in captives, was 
carried on. The owners of captives 
always exhibited them to the best advan- 
tage, and it was not long until the whole 
assemblage knew who possessed the 


LAURA LAMAR. 


173 


most desirable pale-face of either sex. 

Anson had pitched his tents along- 
the principal trail or street that ran 
through the village, the lake being just 
back of them. He desired, first, to dis- 
pose of Lamar, and second to ally himself 
with some chief in the interior. The 
conduct of Laura led him to believe that 
she was becoming accustomed to her 
surroundings and he also reasoned that 
now, if Lamar were dead, she would aid 
him in inducing her mother to come to 
him. 

Accordingly, he told Lizard that he 
would give him Lamar, to sell or trade 
off to the best advantage. The latter 
grinned and replied: “Ugh! Lizard trade 
him for a dog.” 

“What Raccoon have?” asked that 
savage, looking on. 

“Raccoon must wait,” said Anson. 

“Raccoon have pale-face squaw,” 
said the other, rather boldly. 

“The pale-face maiden will be the 
squaw of some great chief,” replied 
Anson, haughtily. 


174 


LAURA LAMAR. 


Raccoon turned on his heel and walked 
away. 

With an eye to the main chance, 
Anson conferred with several chiefs from 
the west, and finally persuaded “Soft 
Wind,’* chief of the Wenonahs to become 
interested in Laura. This chief was very 
old and was so named because he was so 
gentle in manner and mild of speech. 

“Ugh,” said he, when Anson had 
mentioned the matter to him. “Where 
is white squaw?” 

“In my tepee,” answered Anson. 

“Soft Wind go see her.” 

They walked to the tepee, and Soft 
Wind said: “Bring her out.” 

Anson ordered the girl to come forth 
and vfhen she did so. Soft Wind looked 
at her carefully and said slowly: 

“She pretty, but Soft Wind is afraid 
she is too tender. He does not want 
her.” 

“She is my daughter and I want her 
to be your wife,” replied Anson. 

“She pretty as a red bird — ,” came 
a voice from behind them, and, turning 


LAURA LAMAR. 


175 


around, Anson saw Eag'le Eye, the fierce 
Senior Sag-amore of the Hurons, looking- 
Laura over, critically. Without further 
ceremony, he went to her, and, roughly 
pulling her dress down over her right 
shoulder, disclosed a red spot, which had 
been made by a hot flint arrow-head and 
showed its exact shape. 

“I take her. How many beaver 
skins?” said he. 

“I will not sell her now,” said 
Anson, amazed beyond measure at the 
sight. 

“Ugh! you offer her to Soft Wind.” 

“But I have changed my mind.” He 
was greatly perplexed and felt that he 
must discover the origin of the mark if 
possible. 

“Ugh! take her to the Great Coun- 
cil,” said Eagle Eye. 

When two or more persons could not 
agree, as to the disposal of a captive, the 
matter was referred to the Great Council 
and settled by a vote of the chiefs, so, to 
the Council House, Laura was taken. 
Her extreme beauty attracted such uni- 


176 


LAURA LAMAR. 


versal attention among* the assembled 
chiefs, that they could not decide whose 
property she should be, and the debate 
continued far into the night. Finally, it 
was arranged that the matter be referred 
to Soft Wind, whose decision should be 
final, since he had taken no part in the 
discussion, and that he should render his 
judgment the next morning. Then all 
present, retired to their wigwams for the 
night. 

Two hours later, Anson came out of 
the wigwam of Soft Wind, with a smile 
on his face. This smile was changed to 
a dark frown when he entered his own 
tent and found Raccoon and Pat Murphy 
in a death struggle in which the Indian 
was rapidly getting the better of the 
peddler. Raccoon was on top of the 
Irishman and did not see Anson enter. 
The peddler did, and said to the savage: 

“By all the saints in purgatory. I’ll 
be dyin’ right here afore I’ll let ye shtale 
the pretty white squaw from Rattle- 
snake.” 

Anson understood the situation in an 


LAURA LAMAR. 


177 


instant, and quietly stepping- up behind 
Raccoon, drew his hunting* knife across 
the back of his neck and he fell dead. 
Next he jerked the bandage off, which 
the Indian had tied over Laura’s mouth. 

“Well, Pat,” said he cooly. “When 
did you get into camp?” 

“About four days ago, an’ a unlucky 
dog am I, too.” 

“What’s the matter now?” 

“Why, matter enuff, begorry. I 
was walkin’ along wid me pack on me 
back whin what should I do but run up 
aginst a lot av bucks an’ buckesses sittin’ 
round a fire a smokin’; thin I said to one 
av thim: ‘Have ye anny soft tobaccy 
about ye ’re pants? I ’ve been thravellin’ 
round fur six months an’ havn’t had a 
single whiff at a pipe in all that time. 
The dirty blackguard niver said a word, 
an’ thin I said to another one: ‘Would 
ye lind me a pipe an’ tobaccy. I’ve a 
mouth av me own.’ Why, the divil fly 
away wid me jacket pocket if he said a 
word ayther. 

“Thin what should happen but a 


178 


LAURA LAMAR. 


grazy ould squaw come runnin’ an’ 
grabbed me round the neck — Bah! ’Tis 
enuff to puke a buzzard to think av it — 
an’ say: ‘Me hunter, me brave, me war- 
rior, come to tepee. Me love ye,’ an’ thin 
she got a lot av ould hags an’ bucks 
afther me, an’ they run me into a hut of a 
tint an’ there, sittin’ on the ground, 
lookin’ like a cross-eyed monkey, was a 
spalpeen of a pappoose.” 

“Well, what of that?’’ said Anson. 

“Why, that ould hag took me by the 
arrum an’ pintin’ to the little divil said: 
‘Ye boy, ye pappoose.’” 

“What did you say to that?” said 
Anson, after a hearty laugh, in which 
Laura could not refrain from joining. 

“Ah! alackadaisy, it broke me heart, 
it did, an’ I pinted to the little baste an’ 
said, in good ould Irish: 

“ ‘ That dirty slobberin’ brat me boy? 
Bah! That stinkin’ little muddobber? 
Now look at the little blister. Aw — waw 
— waw — ! Do I look like that now? Do 
1? Do /, I say, an’ if I do, why, thin I ’ll 
jump into the lake an’ dhrown meself.’” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


179 


“What did they say to that?” said 
Anson. 

“What did they say to that? Say 
nothin’. Whin I ^ot throug*h blastin’ the 
little dirty mussrat, I turned around, 
an’ ivery he-divil and she-divil av ’em was 
g-one an’ me pack along wid ’em, an’ left 
me a poor wanderin’ orfunt agin. I set 
out a huntin’ yez an’ jist happened to 
poke me head in here, whin that bloody 
haythen had your lady there, bucked an’ 
gagged an’ was gittin’ ready to git away 
wid her.” 

Lizard then came in, followed by 
John Lamar, and Rattlesnake said, point- 
ing to the body of Raccoon: “Throw that 
into the lake.” 

He complied without a word. He was 
very ill tempered, for he had been around 
trying to sell or trade Lamar off, but had 
failed. 

“ Pat,” said Anson, taking him aside, 
“have you heard anything of the woman?” 

“I heerd as how she stharted afther 
yez to the big river.” 

“To the Allegheny?” 


180 


LARUA LAMAR. 


“Yes’n I heerd as how she shot 
Jumpin’ Pox, whin he tried to shtale the 
g*irrul — ” 

“Why, Jumping* Pox was shot by 
the accidental discharg*e of his g*un, for 
the g’irl herself told me so,” said Anson, 
loudly. 

“Yes, I told you so,” interrupted 
Laura, with a smile, “but I told you a 
lie, for I saw my mother shoot him from 
the bushes on the opposite side of the 
river.” 

“Why did you not tell me the truth?” 
demanded Anson sternly. 

“Because I was afraid you would 
capture her,” she answered, quietly. 

“You wench, if I had known that, I 
would have g*iven you to Raccoon.” 

“I fear it is too late, now,” she said, 
sweetly. 

“But what else did you learn, Pat?” 
whispered Anson. 

“Hsh, be aisy an’ don’t let the 
g*irrul hear anny thing else. I learned 
that doorin’ the flood, she found the boat 
Jumpin’ Pox had cut loose an’ tried to 


LAURA LAMAR. 


181 


cross in it but wint down the river 
about six thousand milds, an’ was cap- 
tered by the — the — , what the divil is 
their names? The Kiowas.” 

“How did you learn this?” said 
Anson. 

“I was peddlin’ among- thim, an’ I 
tried to buy her fur yez but they wouldn’t 
sell her.” 

“Good!” exclaimed Anson. “The 
Kiowas are the neig-hbors of the We- 
nonahs and, as I am going* with the 
Wenonahs, I will soon be in possession of 
her. Now, Pat, take a drop of fire water, 
and stretch yourself out there and take a 
nap.” 

When the Great Council assembled 
the next morning, the astonishment was 
very great when Soft Wind announced 
that he had decided to take the white 
squaw himself, to comfort him in his old 
days. 

This wls the last day of the meeting, 
and was to be devoted to foot racing 
among the male captives, the winner to 
be granted his liberty. Anson had placed 


182 


LAURA LAMAR. 


Laura in charge of the peddler, to which 
she pretended to object. While they 
were sitting- in front of the wig-wam, wait- 
ing- for the race to beg-in, Murphy told 
her all about her mother and assured her 
that the end was not far away, now that 
he knew the future plans of Anson. 
While they were thus engag-ed, a wild 
yell told them the race was on, and that 
the runners would soon pass the place 
where they sat. Laura kept on talking 
to her mother’s old friend until they were 
nearly opposite her. When she looked 
up, she saw, to her amazement, that the 
foremost was Walter Van way. Instantly, 
and without a second thought, she uttered 
that same peculiar cry of the whip-poor- 
will, which her mother had taught her, 
and which Murphy had heard her mother 
utter as he trudged up the Allegheny. 
Her lover recognized it at once and turned 
to catch a sight of her. As he did so, his 
foot suddenly slipped and he fell to the 
ground, and, consequently, lost the race. 

With a cry, she sprang up and ran to 
him. She dropped to her knees and he 


LAURA LAMAR. 


183 


drew her head down, kissed her lips 
quickly and asked hurriedly: “Where 
are they going- to send you?” 

“To the Wenonahs,” she answered, 
in a whisper. 

“And where are they?” 

“I know not. Away to the south- 
west, somewhere. But what of you?” 

“If I had won the race, I should have 
been set free — ” 

“My God! I have sent you back to 
captivity,” she answered. 

“Never mind, let us hope. I am to 
be sent to the Oshwanees, who are also 
somewhere in the southwest. Good by, 
they are after me,” and the lovers parted 
again. 

The next day, everybody broke camp, 
Anson and his captives going with the 
Wenonahs. When they were ready to 
start, Murphy went up and, extending 
his hand, said: “Well, good by, Misther 
Anson Rattlesnake. I see ye’re a goin* 
wid Misther Blow Aisy.” 

“Why, are you not going with us?” 

“Not now, me hearty.” 


184 


LAURA LAMAR. 


“And why not? You must stay with 
me until I capture that woman.” 

“ Shure, I ’ll be wid ye soon enuff, me 
boy, soon enuff, but I must be g*oin’ back 
to The Port to git meself another pack to 
go peddlin’ wid. But I ’ll be along* wid 
yez soon enuff,” and he trudged away, 
muttering: “soon enuff, an’ sooner too, 
fur him, I’m a thinkin’.” 

Anson and his party turned and w^ent 
with the Wenonahs, although Lizard was 
very sullen, because he had been unable 
to dispose of John Lamar. 

During the journey, Anson endeav- 
ored to learn from Laura the cause of the 
mark on her shoulder. She did not know 
it was there, and was now more than ever 
convinced that there was, to her, an un- 
known history of her early life. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


185 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE LONG LANE HAS A TURN. 

One of the most beautiful of the 
many beautiful streams that flow across 
the dear old state of Indiana, is Blue 
River. Prom its source to its mouth, it 
presents, to the eye of the appreciative 
beholder, a panorama of ever-changing* 
scenery and inspiring beauty. No lover 
of nature can fail to be enamored of the 
fine, old stream. Indeed, if we may judge 
by the number of little white tents that 
dot its borders every summer, it has many 
loyal devotees. 

Now it goes laughing and dancing in 
one continuous ecstasy of rippling hilar- 
ity over the shiny pebbles that have been 
made smooth and glassy by its smiling 
kisses in the centuries gone by. Leaving 
the ripple, it steals silently around a 


186 


LAURA LAMAR. 


bend, to a clump of bushes, and seems 
wonderously surprised, when it discovers 
two lovers sitting* very close tog*ether and 
who, an hour ag*o, may have been fishing* 
for bass but who are now fishing for — 
hearts. 

Between a double line of magnificent 
old sycamores that stand in somber 
silence and stately dignity, with bowed 
heads and arms stretched over its glassy 
surface, it moves on with the calm delib- 
eration that becomes it in the presence of 
these white-limbed monarchs of the 
forest, cooling the bodies of the quiet 
cows, as they chew their cuds in silent 
contentment at noon day, or tickling the 
toes of the boy who has been sent to the 
field with a jug of water for the thirsty 
harvesters, but who is now totally obliv- 
ious to the existence of anything else 
beside himself and the beautiful river. 

Now it finds the way of its going 
hindered by a huge dam, which it slowly 
approaches, then separates, when one 
stream sends up a shout of triumph as it 
leaps over the rocky barrier, while the 


LAURA LAMAR. 


187 


other passes through the old water mill, 
whose busy wheels at once set up the 
jolly song of contented industry. Bound- 
ing away from its captors, it joins 
its fellow, and the river then flows along 
in its merry mood of glittering gladness 
adorning the breast of the beautiful 
valley, as a woven strand of sparkling 
diamonds adorns the bosom of love. On, 
on, it flows, singing, laughing, darting, 
dancing, until it meets its brother, the 
White River, when the two unite in an 
inseparable embrace and soon spring into 
the open arms of the grand, old Wabash, 
which speedily carries them to the bosom 
of the majestic Ohio, where they sweetly 
sleep, as they move slowly onward toward 
the deep, blue sea. 


188 


LAURA LAMAR. 


THE BONNY BIG BLUE. 

There’s a river in old Indiana, 

That flows through a valley of gold; 

On its bosom are glittering diamonds, 

In its laughter is pleasure untold. 

It is singing a song as it wanders 

Through the woodlands of emerald hue. 
Oh, the song that to me is the sweetest. 

Is the song of the Bonny Big Blue. 


The nightingale sings in the wildwood. 

And the whip-poor-will cries in the glen, 
On my ear falls the lay of the blue-bird, 

And the twit of the shy, little wren. 

Oh, the robin swings high in the orchard. 
And the dove courts his sweetheart so true. 
And the g’ay, little children are playing,. 

On the banks of the Bonny Big Blue. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


189 


There ’s a voice coming- down through the valley, 
From the cottag-e that stands on the knoll; 
There is music to me in its echoes, 

For they whisper sweet peace to my soul. 

’ Tis the voice of my sainted, old mother. 

As she stood where the red roses grew. 

And sang- like a lark in the morning-. 

On the banks of the Bonny Big- Blue. 


When the honey-dew falls on the flowers. 
When the stars woo the heavens above. 
When the violets blush in the shadows, 

And the daffodils whisper of love; 

When the crickets chirp low in the meadow. 
And the moon smiles her kisses to you. 
Let us walk neath the leafy, old maples. 

On the banks of the Bonny Big- Blue. 


190 


LAURA LAMAR. 


On the rig-ht bank of Blue River, 
about €fty miles from its source, is 
situated a solitary elevation, which local 
tradition has christened, “Hanover Hill,” 
althoug'h no one knows just when. It 
is the only elevation of its kind along- the 
entire course of the stream, and it stands 
a silent monument to the dead past, whose 
annals would soon be forgotten, but for 
those noble men and women, who con- 
sider it a sacred duty to collect, compile 
and preserve all the information they can 
obtain concerning the peculiar people, 
who flourished in the now fast vanishing 
ages, yet, who have practically disap- 
peared from the fair face of the land the 
Great Spirit gave them. 

A little, narrow green-sward spreads 
out just along the bank of the stream, 
back of which rises the beautiful breast of 
the hill, in emerald loveliness and enchant- 
ing splendor before the astonished eyes of 
the fascinated beholder. Beyond its 
summit is a great hollow, which has 
evidently been scooped out, at some re- 
mote period, and its contents used in the 


LAURA LAMAR. 


191 


construction of the hill, for it is clearly a 
child of that unknown race, the Mound 
Builders. 

Beginning* at the northern extremity 
of Hanover Hill, and extending* north- 
ward, is a row of hills and bluffs, which, 
at this time, overlook a broad, beautiful 
and highly cultivated valley, but which, 
at the time of which we write, were in- 
habited by the Wenonah Indians. To 
these hills. Soft Wind and his follow*ers, 
including the renegade white man, went, 
from the Great Council at Sandusky. 

On the side of this large hill, nearest 
the rising sun, and not far from its base, 
is the entrance to a cave, which has never 
been explored, and, concerning which, a 
mystery has always existed. So deep 
has been this mystery, that the stoutest- 
hearted Indian always passed the place 
after dark with silent tread and bated 
breath; and no one could be induced to 
enter it. Since the advent of the pale- 
faces, they too, have felt a superstitious 
dread of the place, so much so, that only 
one man has ever ventured to crawl into 


192 


LAURA LAMAR. 


its narrow mouth, but he returned in 
g-reat haste and has always kept the 
secret of his discovery. Around the 
entrance to this cave, is a composition of 
g-ravel and stone, so compactly cemented 
together that not the finest tempered 
steel pick can break it, and it has been 
said to even resist the power of dynamite. 

Into this cave, Mrs. Lamar, followed 
by the three-legged dog, crawled one 
dark night, not many days after the 
Wenonahs had returned from the Great 
Council, and, just as she stooped down 
to enter it, holding in her apron a bunch 
of fagots, a voice said gently: 

“Kape up yer spirits, baby, an ye’ll 
come out all right. The ould mon ’ll niver 
lave ye now, me darlint. Jist go in there 
an’ make ye up a fire to warm yerself by 
an’ thin lie down and shlape every hour 
ye can, aven if ye haf to shtay awake to 
do it. Good bye, baby, I must go ped- 
dlin’ among Misther Blow Aisy and his 
Winnonys, ’cause I tould Anson I’d be 
along soon enuff, and he’ll find out I will, 
too, but I ’ll not be lavin’ ye long, good 


LAURA LAMAR. 


193 


bye,” and away he went and was soon 
busy trading red calico for beaver skins 
by the lig’ht of the fire in the Indian 
camp. 

The woman knew nothing- of the 
superstition of the savag-es concerning- 
her hiding- place, and if she had, she 
doubtless would have taken up her present 
abode there anyhow, for it was the only 
retreat she could find. Something- told 
her the strife was soon to be over, the 
race was soon to end. She knew not how 
nor cared but little, as she had almost 
exhausted her physical powers in her 
efforts to liberate her loved ones, and her 
hope of seeing- her persecutor punished. 
She had been guided hither by the Irish 
peddler and on him she must rely for the 
present. 

******* 

When Walter Van way arrived at the 
villiage of the Oshawnees, he began at 
once to inquire about the location of the 
Wenonahs. He found them to be about 
fifty miles to the northwest, and secretly 
resolved to reach them if possible. He 


194 


LAURA LAMAR. 


had gained the confidence of his captors, 
by asking- to be made an adopted son of 
the Tribe, which was done. 

So skillful was he in his riding*, that 
he was ordered to teach the young* men 
of the Oshawnees the art of horseman- 
ship. One day he told them that, at the 
setting of the sun, he could start and 
ride a distance equal to the length of the 
two rivers which united in the center of 
their hunting grounds, and he would re- 
turn when the hoot owl called the hour of 
midnight. Upon receiving permission 
to try it, he set out, but instead of re- 
turning, he headed straight for the land 
of the Wenonahs, but lost his way and 
came so near running into a band of 
Kiowas out hunting, that he was com- 
pelled to hide for a time, in Plat Rock 
cave. 

Shortly after the arrival of the 
Wenonahs at their own village, Henry 
Anson held a long consultation with Soft 
Wind, during which he told the kind- 
hearted old chief that he had just learned 
that the Kiowas had captured his wife 


LAURA LAMAR. 


19S 


and he desired to visit them and en- 
deavor to purchase her. The chief g-ave 
his consent, and Anson disappeared, 
being* next seen in the camp of the 
Kiowas. He was confident that he would 
find Mrs. Lamar there and decided to 
purchase her, if possible; failing* in this, 
he would steal her. She was not there. 
However, he was somewhat relieved when 
he was told that there was one hunting* 
party out yet and that she might be with 
them. He waited several days for her 
arrival but she did not come and he de- 
parted for the camp of the Wenonahs. 

Soon after Anson’s departure for 
the camp of the Kiowas, the old Wenonah 
chief was stricken with a malignant 
fever. The journey had been too long 
for him, and, despite all his medicine men 
could do, he continued to grow worse, 
day by day. In this extremity, he sent 
for the raven-haired, pale-faced captive, 
and it happened to be the night that 
Anson returned from his visit to the 
Kiowas. As she entered the wigwam, 
the chief dismissed every one else, and, 


196 


LAURA LAMAR. 


when they were alone, requested her to 
be seated near him. When she had done 
so, her back was toward the entrance 
of the wig'wam and she did not notice the 
figure of a woman which glided silently in 
and squatted upon the ground behind 
her. The face of the visitor was colored 
brown, but it was too fine a face for an 
Indian squaw. A smile lit up the dark 
countenance, and her whole frame trem- 
bled as her eyes drank in the girl before 
her. The old chief took the maiden’s 
hand in his and said: 

“Pale-face maiden. Soft Wind would 
be glad to make you his wife. Such 
was his will and pleasure when he saw 
you at the Great Council, but he felt that 
he was too old. You are young as the 
fawn and fair as the sunshine. Soft 
Wind told Rattlesnake he would not take 
the maiden. Rattlesnake say, ‘she is my 
daughter. Her mother was captured by 
some evil ones, and I want her to be the 
wife of Soft Wind.’ 

“When the Great Council separated 
at midnight. Soft Wind went to his wig- 


LAURA LAMAR. 


197 


warn. Rattlesnake follow him and say 
again: ‘ Soft Wind, take my daughter and 
marry her and I will give you this gold 
locket. When Soft Wind weds her, she 
will wear it to please his heart. ’ Here it 
is, pale-faced maiden. Soft Wind can 
not make you his bride but he gives you 
the trinket and hopes you may remember 
him forever.” 

The darkness increased intensely. 
The skins that covered the wigwam of 
the chief were seen to raise, just a little, 
on one side, and a pair of wicked eyes 
peered in upon the scene, but only for a 
moment, then the face drew back un- 
observed and a smile of satisfaction crept 
over it. 

The chief placed the locket in 
Laura’s hand. She opened it and sud- 
denly started, for, in one side, she behelch 
the picture of a woman; the same face 
that Anson had trampled into the ground 
in the tepee, away back in Pennsylvania. 
In the other side, was the picture of a 
man she had never seen or heard of, so 
far as she knew. Turning the shiny 


198 


LAURA LAMAR. 


memento over, she read aloud: “From 
Frank to Mary. I wonder who they are. ’ ’ 

The creature behind her uttered an 
almost audible groan and stole silently 
out of the wigwam, then paused and heard 
the chief say feebly; 

“Pale-face maiden, beneath my head 
lies a necklace made of bear’s teeth, which 
is worth many fathoms of wampum. 
Place it about my neck. Now press your 
warm lips to my forehead and call my 
warriors and braves.” 

With an inward shudder, she com- 
plied with his request, as she secreted 
the locket in her bosom. 

When the warriors and braves had 
assembled, they formed a circle around 
the chief while Laura resumed her former 
position. When this was done, the fire 
in the wigwam was almost extinguished. 
The two figures outside had glided in 
opposite directions while the warriors 
and braves were assembling. Now, they 
crept close to the tent, but on opposite 
sides, and heard, from the lips of the 
kind hearted old chief of the Wenonahs, 


LAURA LAMAR. 


199 


THE LAST WORDS OF SOFT WIND. 

“Warriors and Braves, you have 
assembled in this tepee to hear the part- 
ing- words of your father. ’Tis well. As 
the eagle watches over her young and 
tender brood, so have you watched over 
the father of your tribe. As your father, 
I have gathered you about my knee and 
taught you the lessons of peace. The 
Wenonahs were ever a peaceful people, 
and never went to war unless compelled 
to do so. The wind never blew softer, 
than when it whispered words of love 
into the ears of the Wenonahs. The sun 
never shone brighter than when it pressed 
a warm kiss upon the dark cheek of the 
Wenonahs. This dear, old river never 
sang a sweeter song than the song of 
peace, love and justice that it sings as it 
flows beside the village of the Wenonahs. 

“When I was a babe, I was weak and 
rested in my mother’s arms. When I 
grew to be a man, I was strong. I was 
the swiftest in the race, the surest in the 
test of skill in the use of the bow and the 
rifle, the foren^ost in the chase and the 


200 


LAURA LAMAR. 


strongest in battle. Then it was, that 
the Great Spirit made me to be the 
father of my children. Then was Soft 
Wind as powerful as the old river when 
it reaches from foot-hill to foot-hill, across 
the broad bosom of the valley. Not more 
strong* than he was the big* wind that 
sweeps away the forests when the evil 
spirit of some pale-face troubles it. My 
children, always open the door of your 
tepee to the g*ood pale-face but turn your 
back upon his evil brother and cast him 
from your camp. 

“As tender as the warm kiss of the 
sun or the soft smile of the moon, is Soft 
Wind among* his children. They love 
him because he is their father and he 
loves them because they are his children. 

“ The Great Spirit is good. He has 
stocked our forests with the choicest 
game. He has filled our streams with 
the finest fish. He has made our fields of 
maize to groan beneath their burdens, so 
that the Red Man, with his wife and 
little ones, might pass the winter with- 
out cold or hunger. 


LAURA LAMAR. 


201 


“The Great Spirit is powerful. He 
speaks and his voice is heard in the 
sound of the deafening thunder, the roar 
of the mighty cataract and the beating of 
the angry waves of the sea against the 
stubborn rocks, and his eyes sparkle in 
the flash of the lightning. 

“The Great Spirit is lovely. His 
voice is heard in the sweet and solemn 
songs that are sung over the graves of 
of those we love, when the night-winds 
move softly and silently through the 
village of the departed. He gently re- 
proves our wrong doing in the words of 
our beloved prophet, and his voice is 
sweetest when we hear it in the innocent 
prattle of our little ones. 

- “The Great Spirit is wise. He 
makes the rose to blush crimson in the 
tangled foliage of the forest and, from 
her scented lips, the honey bee gathers 
the delicious sweets, which he stores 
away in some tall poplar against the 
blasts of icy winter, which the instinct 
given him by the Great Spirit, teaches 
him must surely come. Yet the blooming 


202 


LARUA LAMAR. 


rose fades and withers away and the 
honey bee dies and is forg-otten. 

“The g-rass puts forth its tender 
shoots, when the winter is over and gone. 
Nourished by the warm springf-time 
showers which quench the thirst of its 
parched roots, it gfrows higher and 
higher, until it has reached the stage of 
complete development, when the moisten- 
ing sap returns to the earth or is wafted 
away on the morning breeze, and the 
grass lies dead upon the cold bosom of 
its mother. 

“The rush and the daisy, the reed 
and the violet, the strong, sturdy oak, 
undisputed monarch of the boundless 
forest and the tender, trailing honey- 
suckle, all obey the same law, enacted 
and executed by an all-powerful, yet 
unseen hand. 

“The sun comes forth in the smile of 
the morning and is lost in the frown of 
the night. The dew-drops sparkle for a 
moment, then vanish away. The corn 
shoots up in the dawn of the spring- 
time and withers in the evening twilight 


LAURA LAMAR. 


203 


of the winter. The flowers blush under 
the kiss of the blue sky in the summer and 
fade ’neath the an^ry blasts of the winter. 
So is it with the children of the Great 
Spirit. They come from the land of the 
Mystery Man, and they go where the 
Great Spirit directs their footsteps. 

“My children, listen to the prophecy 
of your father. Beside me sits a pale- 
faced maiden, the fairest of her race. She 
is innocent, pure and ^ood, and is, within 
herself, a helpless, harmless creature, 
but the prophecy of Soft Wind is that the 
time will come when the forests which 
now know the Red Man, will kno.w him no 
more forever, for they will be occupied 
by the pale-face nation. 

“Many, many Great Suns ag-o, the 
foot of the first pale-face trod the land of 
the children of the forest. Like the bees 
that leave their hives in the tall sycamore, 
when their number has grown so great 
that they no longer have room to live as 
they desire, the pale-faces left the land 
they had always known. Their canoes 
dotted the troubled bosom of the great 


204 


LAURA LAMAR. 


waters of the east, as the wild ducks dot 
the lakes in the forest. 

“From the land of the rising- sun, 
they swarmed into our forests like ants, 
seeking new worlds to conquer. They 
brought with them their speaking books, 
with whose mysterious tongues they are 
able to speak to their brothers a thous- 
and leagues away; and, it is by the aid of 
these speaking books that they will some- 
time rule all the worlds in the universe of 
the Great Spirit. Such are my truthful 
words. They have gone from me and 
shall not return. May the Red Man and 
the pale-face be friends. 

“My children, the days of Soft Wind, 
chief of the Wenonahs, are numbered. 
The Great Sun of his life is rapidly sink- 
ing behind yon forest fringe, which hides 
from his dimming eyes, the happy hunt- 
ing grounds where he so much longs to 
be. Upon his ear, the song of the wood- 
bird and the cry of the panther fall un- 
heeded. The broad, blue river will sing 
its sweetest songs to the children of the 
forest just the same, when the spirit of 


LAURA LAMAR. 


205 


Soft Wind has flown away, but he will not 
hear them. The meek-eyed moon will go 
on in her way through the Great Suns of 
the future, just the same as in the past, 
but her smiles will no longer cheer the 
heart of the chief of the Wenonahs. 

“The mightiest oak in the forest is 
falling. Its leaves, blasted by the icy 
chill of death, are floating away, slowly, 
slowly, on the silently sweeping winds, to 
the bosom of mother earth. The foun- 
tain spring of his youth has run dry and 
the stream of his life is fading away. 

“My last battle is fought and my 
last chase is ended. I must leave you 
and go to my fathers. Keep upper- 
most in the hearts of the Wenonahs, the 
eternal principles of Freedom, Friend- 
ship and Charity, that you have learned 
at my knee. Bury me on the crest of the 
Great Hill v/ith my face toward the ris- 
ing sun. May the Great Spirit bless and 
comfort you. My children, I have done.’* 
The chief of the Wenonahs was dead. 

At that moment, the woman outside 
disappeared among the bushes, but not 


206 


LAURA LAMAR. 


quickly enough to evade the searching 
eyes of Henry Anson, for it was he who 
had also witnessed the death of the chief. 

“Ah, ha, my lady,” said he, “my 
prophecy is being fulfilled. The doe 
has followed the fawn and will soon 
find herself in my trap. I’ll just see 
where you lodge to-night.” 

He followed her until she entered the 
cave, then said to himself: 

“Very well; I could not wish for you 
to have chosen a better hiding place. I 
will leave you alone until that greasy, old 
Indian is buried, then I’ll come and in- 
vite you to my wedding.” 

The next day, the body of the old 
chief was buried on the summit of Han- 
over Hill with great pomp and ceremony. 
A few years ago, a party of road makers, 
while hauling gravel from the hill, un- 
earthed the skeleton of the old chief. 
The neck was encircled by the necklace 
of bear’s teeth, which is now in the pos- 
session of a friend of the author. 

* * * * * * 

Slippery Eel was installed as the 


LAURA LAMAR. 


207 


successor of Soft Wind, amid shouts of 
joy. Anson at once held a long- private 
conference with him and seemed satis- 
fied with the result. 

It was high noon when the festivities, 
incident to the installation of the new 
chief into office, were concluded. While 
Anson and Slippery Eel were conferring 
in the latter’s tent, a white man crept 
cautiously through the bushes on the 
opposite side of the river, and when he 
reached the edge of the thicket, he lay 
flat upon the ground and stealthily sur- 
veyed the surroundings, then said to 
himself: 

“And this is the land of the We- 
nonahs. Over there, just a little way 
from that big hill, is the wigwam of the 
chief, and beside it a smaller one, which, 
I imagine, holds all that is dearest on 
earth to me. Gods! How I wish I were 
a thousand men; but I am only one, and, 
it may be, a foolhardy one, yet I am de- 
termined to set that girl free if it costs 
me my life. I wonder if I could find a 
hiding place over there.” His eyes ran 


208 


LAURA LAMAR. 


along* the scene beyond, then he said 
suddenly: “Ah, there is a cave in that 
hill, I think, and when night comes on. 
I’ll swim across and go into it. It may 
be full of red devils, but they have a 
superstitious dread of dark caverns which 
may be to my profit in this instance. 

“Well, now, look at that western sky 
away out yonder. It has a most peculiar 
appearance. I never saw anything like 
it before. I wonder if western skies 
have that appearance often.” 

The day wore gradually away and the 
haze in the sky deepened as night drew 
near. At twilight, it began to rain just 
a little, then it ceased and a heavy, murky 
atmosphere, so stifling as to almost take 
one’s breath, settled upon the earth. The 
dogs in the Indian village went skulking 
here and there, > whining and yelling in 
the most abject terror. The horses 
tugged at their rawhide tethers in their 
efforts to break loose. A stalwart war- 
rior rushed up to Murphy and said; 

“ What make it?” 

“Begorry, they’s a divil in the camp, 
an Avil Spirit.” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


209 


“What it like?” 

“It is more loike the divil hisself 
nor anny thing* I know. It is a painted 
pale-face.” 

“It Rattlesnake?” asked the other. 

“That’s the chap, me hearty.” 

“Then me take his scalp.” 

“Do it, me buck, an’ ye’ll git as big 
as a mountain an’ I ’ll give ye a whole 
yard of red calliky.” 

“Ugh! Me go now.” 

“Go on, go on, me lad.” 

He started away in a run, but an 
unlucky gust of wind blew a limb from a 
tree and it struck him on the head and 
killed him. 

Darkness came on and it was abso- 
lutely impenetrable. By and by, there 
came from the southwest a sound which 
at first appeared to be the rustle of the 
wind among the leaves of the trees and 
bushes. The noise grew louder and more 
distinct. A huge, black cloud, shaped like 
a funnel, and seeming to extend from earth 
to heaven, appeared. The whole village 
was in a state of the wildest excitement. 


210 


LAURA LAMAR. 


There was not a clap of thunder to be 
heard nor a flash of lightning to be seen, 
yet it was clear that some dreadful 
calamity was impending. 

Just then, a figure stole from one of 
the tepees. It was Henry Anson. He 
passed the wigwam of the chief. Beside 
it, and nearer the water, was the tepee 
where Laura and her father were con- 
fined. As he neared the latter, he saw 
the faintest outline of a woman dart away 
from it and run toward the stream. He 
recognized her at once. 

She hurried to the cave and entered. 
Hark! What was that? Nothing, per- 
haps, although it sounded like the faint 
tinkle of a piece of steel striking a stone. 
With a quick step Anson followed her to 
the entrance of the cavern, as he reasoned 
she would go there. He crouched low 
and listened. He gazed into the dark- 
ness but all to no purpose. He placed 
his ear to the ground and heard only the 
deafening roar of the hurricane. He 
listened intently for any sound in the 
cave but none came. Crouching low, he 


LAURA LAMAR. 


211 


crawled into it just as a stout figure, 
armed with a heavy club crept along the 
side of the hill and concealed himself 
among the bushes. 

All was darkness wfithin. Anson was 
reasonably certain that Mrs. Lamar had 
preceded him, but he dreaded the pos- 
sibility of her being concealed in some 
convenient corner where she could easily 
deal him a death blow. He was just get- 
ting ready to retreat, when the dog set 
up a loud barking. 

“Why, Brindle, what is the matter 
now?” said Mrs. Lamar uneasily. She 
stirred the embers that lay on the ground 
into a blaze, and when she looked up, she 
again faced her persecutor. 

He crept a little farther into the cave, 
then dropped to the ground. Just as he 
did so, another man cautiously drew near 
from the river, feeling his way with the 
greatest care. It was Walter Vanway. 
He groped toward the entrance of the 
dark cavern, and, placing his hand upon 
the ground, he touched something cold 
that startled him. A moment later, he 


212 


LAURA LAMAR. 


grasped a thin, narrow blade. It was the 
dagger Mrs. Lamar had carried with her 
•all these eventful months. It had been 
her sole reliance in her determination to 
destroy her own life, rather than become 
the captive of Anson, and now, she was 
in his presence, totally unarmed. 

Hearing human voices within, Walter 
mentally exclaimed: 

“Just as I expected. I have reached 
my journey’s end, only to find myself in 
the very midst of a horde of blood-thirsty 
savages, and what is far worse, in the 
clutches of that villain Anson.” The 
hurricane grew louder and louder. The 
trees, limbs, and twigs began to crack 
and fall before the wind, like so many 
straws. Giant oaks, monster poplars, 
strong walnut, and other trees, were 
uprooted faster than one could count 
them. Flying limbs fell everywhere and 
devastation was spread about in the wild- 
est confusion in the track of the storm. 
A horse was carried across the river. A 
squaw was pinned to the earth by a fall- 
ing limb. An Indian babe was blown 


LAURA LAMAR. 


213 


into the top of a tree and two do^s were 
hurled into a hollow log. Such a cyclone 
was never seen in that locality before nor 
since and even to this day, the route of 
that terrible hurricane is pointed out by 
the local dweller as “The Windfall.” 

Walter crowded himself a little way 
into the aperture and listened. Instantly, 
he recognized the voice of Mrs. Lamar 
and a moment later, he knew that Anson 
was there also, for he heard him say to 
her: 

“Ah! My charmer, and so we meet 
again.” 

“Not by my choosing,” she replied. 

“Quite true, quite true, and yet, I 
dare say you do not object to my 
presence.” 

“Most certainly I do.” 

“Come, come, where’s the use of 
being so obstinate? While the storm 
rages without I see no hindrance to our 
making love within, I hope. Call that 
dog back, or I’ll stick this knife into him.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, I see you are well armed again. ’ ’ 

“Indeed I am and I shall not make 
such a fool of myself as I did the last 


214 


LAURA LAMAR. 


time I met you. I have tracked you to 
your final hiding* place.” 

“How did you know I was here?” 

“I followed you from the wigwam of 
Soft Wind last night.” 

“Then you know all that happened 
there?” 

“Ido.” 

“You saw him give Laura the locket 
containing the pictures.” 

“I did.” 

“ What are you going to do with my 
husband?” 

“Your husband! Bah! You have no 
husband.” 

‘ ‘ What, have you killed John Lamar? ’ ’ 

“No,” he replied cooly, “I have not 
killed him but I intend to do so.” 

“And what about the girl?” 

“Well, that depends.” 

“Upon what?” 

“Upon how you treat me.” 

“What do you propose?” 

“I propose to marry you and that we 
live here in the west, the happy lives of 
honest pioneers.” 

“But that can not beo” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


215 


“It must be. It shall be.” 

“It shall not be.” 

“By heavens, it shall be. Hear me 
once for all. I hold your daug-hter a cap- 
tive. She is the idol of your life. Marry 
me and she — ” 

“I will never m'dLtxy you.” 

“You shall marry me. I will take 
you now or leave you here dead. Draw 
your dagger and slay yourself if you like 
but not a second time shall you escape me.” 

He sprang toward her like a demon. 
She thrust her hand into her bosom, as 
she had done at the old capstone, but no 
friendly dagger met it. She had dropped 
it at the entrance of the cave as she came 
in. The blanched look on her face told 
Anson, plainer than words, that she was 
now in reality at his mercy. Raising her 
hand before him, she said softly: 

“Wait a minute.” 

“Well, what have you to say.” 

“But little.” 

“Are you willing to go with me?” 

“Not yet.” 

“You propose to parley a while 


216 


LAURA LAMAR. 


longer, do you? Let me tell you some- 
thing. You are ah my mercy. I can 
station Indian g-uards at the entrance of 
this place and starve you to death,'’* 

“You have done worse.” 

“It matters not. I can do this, but 
I shall not. Here is what I will do. I 
will leave you now. At that opening- in 
the hill, I will sig-nal my g-uards. They 
will keep you here the remainder of the 
night. To-morrow morning at ten 
o’clock, I will send for your answer. If 
it be yes, well and good; if it be no, Izuill 
hum John Lamar and your daughter at the 
stake before your eyes," 

“Burn my daughter at the stake?” 
she walked directly up to him as she said 
this and a strange light came into her 
eyes which Anson did not understand. 

“Yes, burn your daughter at the 
stake,” he said, fiercely. 

Her eyes were now ablaze and she 
answered: 

“No, you will not burn my daughter 
at the stake.” 

“But I say I will.” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


217 


“But I say you will not.” 

“ And why not?” 

‘ ‘ Because I have no daug'hter, ’ ’ 

“ What ’s that?” said he, stag-g-ering* 
backward. 

“You heard what I said.” 

“Do you mean to tell me that the 
g-irl, Laura, is not your daug-hter?” he 
asked in desperation, as a vision of the 
interview with her the first nigfht after 
the capture, came before him. 

“She is 7iot my daug-hter.” 

“Then who is she?” 

‘ ‘ She is the girl you stole from your 
sister Mary and sold to the Hurons for a 
thousa7td beaver skins f she almost 
screamed. 

“My God! woman, is that true?” 

^‘As true as the gospel, and if you 
doubt 7ny word, go to the girl, and, upon 
the back of her right shoulder, you will 
dnd a red spot, made by a hot arrow-head 
in the hands of Eagle Eye, when she was 
a captive of the Hurons,’*'' 

He threw up his' hands and fell to the 
earth insensible. Instantly, Mrs. Lamar 


218 


LAURA LAMAR. 


drew from her bosom the curl she had 
clipped from Laura’s head and placed it 
in his hand, when his finders closed 
tig-htly about it. The recovery was as 
sudden as the seizure and he rose to a 
sitting- posture, then saw the curl. Rais- 
ing- it to his lips, he kissed it tenderly, 
stroked it gently for a little while, medi- 
tated a moment, then sprang to his feet 
and said: 

“What have I done? Just to-day, I 
promised to give her to Slippery Eel for 
his wife if he would help me capture you, 
and all the demons in the bottomless pit 
could not persuade him to release her. 
She is my own flesh and blood. How can 
I rescue her?” 

“Perhaps you can steal the gold 
locket from her and exchange it for her 
as you stole it from her mother and 
bribed Soft Wind with it,” said Mrs. 
Lamar with the bitterest sarcasm. 

“Woman, I believe you lie. I believe 
that girl is your child.” 

“No, she is your sister’s child.” 

“How did you get her?” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


219 


“The Hurons sold her to honest Pat 
Murphy for a bolt of red calico, because 
they said she was grieving* herself to 
death for her mother. Murphy broug’ht 
her to me, thus preventing another mur- 
der being charged against you,” said she. 

“That deceitful Irishman is in the 
camp now, and he shall die.” 

“More than that,” she went on, “he 
guided me to this place. The girl told 
him at Sandusky where she was going 
and I have camped on your trail ever 
since.” 

“So you and the girl and the Irish-* 
man have been in a conspiracy against 
me?” 

“So we have.” 

At this, he became as furious as a 
tiger and said fiercely: 

“For which she shall become the wife 
of the Indian chief, no matter who she is, 
and you shall become my wife. In due 
time, I shall send for you. Good night,” 
and he turned away. 

Her heart sank within her as he 
passed out, but her fears were ground- 


220 


LAURA LAMAR. 


less, for, just as he emerged from the 
opening in the side of the hill, Walter 
Vanway plunged the dagger into his heart 
and he fell dead without a groan. 

A hand was placed upon the young 
man’s shoulder and he drew back the knife 
to strike again, but a friendly voice said: 

“Well done,. me boy, well done. I 
seen the bloody divil shnakin’ down this 
way whin it was darker nor a shtack av 
black cats, an’ I got me a shelalah an’ 
wint afther ’im. Whin I got here, I 
saw yer hind legs a shtickin’ out av the 
hole an’ I thought it was Anson an’ I was 
jist about to begin a batin’ them, but all 
at onct ye begun a crawlin’ back’ards an’ 
I said, ‘the bloody divil is cornin’ out like 
a crawfish,’ but whin ye got out, ye was 
too little, aven in the dark, fur Anson an’ 
I waited half a minute an’ he come, thin 
ye fixed ’im. Good boy, good boy. Cart 
’im away an’ throw ’im in the river, an’ 
I’ll be goin’ in an see if he kilt me dar- 
lint.” He crawled in, muttering: “A 
knife ’s all right in the hands av some 
paaple, but whin ye want me to do a job 


LAURA LAMAR. 


221 


up brown, jist give me a good shelalah, 
anny time.” 

Through the darkness, Walter car- 
ried the body and threw it into the river 
and it floated away. ETe hurried back to 
the cave and found that Murphy had told 
the woman what had happened. When 
she saw Laura’s lover and heard the wel- 
come intelligence, she clasped her hands 
together, then raised her eyes to heaven 
and said: 

“Thank God! I have camped on his 
trail till death.” She was almost over- 
come, but soon recovered and said: “ We 
must rescue the others at once.” 

“But where are they?” asked Walter. 

“Follow in the footsteps av yer pree- 
deesesser,” said Murphy, going ahead. 

They crept out of the cave and found 
that the storm was over. “The Wind- 
fall” had disappeared quickly, as is the 
habit of such storms in that latitude, but 
the havoc they work is terrible, as the 
author can testify from having been in 
the track of a milder cyclone that passed 
over the same hill. 


222 


LAURA LAMAR. 


With difficulty, the party reached the 
top of the hill just as the clouds rolled by 
and the full moon came out. They looked 
to the north and a sight presented itself 
that froze their blood. Not a living being 
was to be seen and the entire village of 
the Wenonahs seemed to be swept from 
the face of the earth. Another cloud 
now obscured the moon and with all pos- 
sible speed, they hurried to where the 
tepee stood that contained the captives. 
It was gone. The soul of the woman 
sank in despair and she was just about to 
abandon the search when a faint groan 
was heard which they all recognized as 
coming from her husband. She hurried 
to him and whispered, hoarsely: 

“John, John, come, we must escape.” 

“ No use to try. Whatever is to be 
will—” 

“John, it is your wife speaking to 
you.” 

This seemed . to rouse him into life 
and he clasped her in his arms. 

“John, where is Laura, tell me quick?” 

“Over there’s the tepee, blown al- 
most into the creek.” 


LAURA LAMAR. 


223 


With a bound, Walter reached the 
spot, and, pulling* aside the skins which 
formed the covering* of the tepee, he 
found his sweetheart, all silent and un- 
conscious. 

He claspe4 her to his bosom and hur- 
ried back to the cave, followed by the 
others, Pat and Mrs. Lamar supporting* 
the still half stupefied old man, and a 
happy reunion then took place. 

By and by, the clouds all vanished 
and the moon shone brig*htly. W^alter 
crept silently back to the camp of the 
Wenonahs. Caution was unnecessary 
for the villag*e was one mass of ruins and 
entirely deserted. Driven from their 
chosen hunting* g*rounds by the evil spirit 
that always followed the painted pale-face. 
Rattlesnake, they wandered in the wilder- 
ness for many, many Great Suns and fin- 
ally pitched their tents to the north-west 
and not far from the classic, old stream of 
Brandywine, in the state of Indiana, 
where they live and flourish to this day." 

Walter and Murphy now secured the 
weapons, ammunition and canoes that the 


224 


E^AURA DAMAR. 


Wenonahs had abandoned, then made 
their way down Blue River and White 
River to the Wabash. They then went up 
that stream until they reached the old fort 
at Vincennes, where they found them- 
selves safe from further harm, the Peank- 
ishaws, having- made peace with the whites. 

Walter and Laura were happily mar- 
ried by the chaplain of the fort. The 
strain on poor, old John Lamar had been 
too great and, in about six months, he 
died, surrounded by his family and friends. 

The remainder of the party then re- 
turned to the grand, old Keystone state, 
and when they had become comfortably 
settled, Mrs. Lamar told Laura the story 
of their lives, but she never disclosed to 
the young wife, the relationship existing 
between her and Henry Anson. 


THE END. 


SOMEBODY. 


Somebody’s cheeks are burning* 

With the fire of a feverish heat, 
Somebody’s lips are yearning* 

For the kiss of an ang*el, sweet. 
Somebody can be the g*ood ang*el, 

That comforts the sorrowing* soul, 
Some one can breathe just a whisper. 
That will make a poor sufferer whole. 

Somebody’s brow is throbbing*, 
Somebody’s hand is cold, 

Somebody’s heart is aching*. 

Somebody is g*rowing* old. 
Somebody’s voice is feeble. 

Somebody’s steps are slow. 
Somebody’s eyes are dimming*. 

For the lig*hts are burning* low. 

I know a nice little somebody. 

That climbs upon somebody’s knee. 
And loving*ly says to somebody! 

“Have you dot any tisses for me?” 
Some little body is long*ing*. 

The sunlig*ht of heaven to see. 

And some little body is waiting*. 

For a smile of affection from me. 


v^aR 1 4 


MAR 14 1902 

Somebody, I know of, is happy, 

For somebody came, one day. 

And placed in her thin hand a paper. 
That drove the old mortg^agfe away. 
Somebody smiles, when she kisses 
Her own little darling's, three. 

And somebody blesses somebody. 

Are those blessing's for you and me? 

Somebody else is .sitting' 

In a cottagfe by a stream ; 

Watching' the flight of the shadows. 

And the dawn of the morning-’s gleam. 
In that cottage are four little orphans. 
Surrounding a poor widow’s knee, 

And their sad, Jiungry eyes are imploring 
A brotherly kindness from me. 

Somebody else should be happy. 
Somebody else should be true, 

Bask in the sunshine of plenty. 

Even as me and you. 

Some one is earnestly trusting 
That some one is willing to be 
A friend in the midnight of sorrow. 

That friend should be 'you or me. 


LBAg’12 






Uncle Robis’s 

liabvBook 

^ A. Hine ^oHectlon of 

JOLLY JINGLB 

For the Little Ones. 

WM AT TMBV SAV: 

THE JUDGE’S WIFE:— “My baby thinks it is 
grand.” 

THE POSTMASTER'S WIPE;— “My Ruth tags 
after me every day to read it to her.” 

THE EDITOR’S WIFE:— “I have to read it to 
my baby before he 'gets up and after he 
goes to bed. ” 

THE PREACHER’S WIFE:— “It is just what 
the babies need.” 

THE DOCTOR’S WIFE:— “It is the best sooth- 
ing syrup I ever saw. ” 

THE COUNTY AUDITOR’S WIFE: — “Mary 
recites it every day.” 

And there are others. 

I 

Price, 10 Cents, Post-paid. 

C. A. ROBIINSOIN, 

638 N. State St., GREENFIELD, IND. 


THE 


ROVING RED RANGERS, 

OR 

LAURA LAMAR, 

; 01" THE SUSQUEHANNA. 


A THRILLING ROMANCE OE THE OLD 
^ COLONIAL DAYS. 


BY C. A. ROBINSON, 

Chief of the Wentontahs, 
G. vS. D. 411. 

PCBLISHICD BY 

THE AUTHOR, 

GRTBENOTBLD, INI*. 


Price, 25 Cents, Postpaid 



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